


Hyacinths and Poison

by Ophelia_of_the_Woods



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, M/M, also sleep bois crime family, george and niki are friends because i want them to interact more with one another on stream, not a lot but it will happen, not really - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_of_the_Woods/pseuds/Ophelia_of_the_Woods
Summary: Being a member of the Guild was a difficult job. It required a great deal of physical and mental strength to enter the business of killing people. But Wilbur was dedicated to his work, and always completed the job.That was until he was instructed to kill George Ashworth, an employee of a nearby flower shop and son of a wealthy oil executive.For the first time, Wilbur struggles to complete his mission, as well as battle his growing feelings for his target
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 76
Kudos: 122





	1. Train Ride into the Unknown

For most of his life, Wilbur Soot was an outsider. 

In school, he was known as the angsty emo musician, who spent all his free time playing video games and writing angsty music. The reputation was half deserved, as Wilbur did spend a great deal of time focusing on his musical abilities, but he wasn’t emo. 

He just preferred to be alone. 

His home life wasn’t spectacular either. Both of his parents were professors at a nearby university, meaning he would often spend his evenings alone, or with them downstairs, arguing about who was more deserving of tenure. He often blocked out the fighting by turning up the volume on his speaker and letting himself go on his guitar. 

When he told his parents he didn’t plan on attending college, they took it quite well. And by well, I mean they kicked him out the minute he turned eighteen. This change didn’t come as a surprise to him, and so he packed up his most valuable items, purchased a train ticket and rode to the end of the line, not caring where he ended up. 

After a great deal of wandering, he found himself sitting in a pub near the corner of a particularly shady part of town, when he was approached by a man dressed in black, sporting an expensive sport jacket and shiny golden watch. And when the man began pitching his idea for a job, Wilbur had no other plans for the rest of his life, so he listened. 

In that instant, he signed his life away. 

\--- 

The Guild, as they were known, served as a sort of mafia group, sort of money laundering scheme. Their primary base of operations was in an office building near a parking lot, which Wilbur learned served as a point of interception for prominent government and business officials. 

The man with the golden watch introduced himself as HBomb, handed Wilbur a piece of paper outlining the requirements he would need to take in order to join the group, and handed him a pen. 

“What happens if I want to leave?” He asked, his pen inches away from the dotted line. 

“Depends,” HBomb said. “You can leave at any time, but it will be on our terms.” 

“And what are those terms?” 

He shrugged. “You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.” 

Wilbur considered his words, and signed the document. 

\--- 

Being an assassin was a difficult job, more difficult than Wilbur had initially anticipated. 

There were the standard things he expected, physical training, learning how to use a weapon, mastering body language, the typical traits. 

Along with that, there was the mental training, the importance of holding the upper hand in any situation, how to get someone to follow you home. Those sessions drained him more than the physical one. 

Wilbur thought he adapted well to this new lifestyle. Of course, he had plenty of sleepless nights and long hours spent researching and rehearsing his stories, but his instructors never had overly harsh words to say to him. He wondered if this was what he was always meant to do. 

\--- 

The Guild lived by a simple code, which was drilled into Wilbur's head all throughout his training. 

  1. Never complete a job which offers a small payment
  2. Never let your personal life intermingle with the Guilds
  3. Never fall in love with your target



The first two rules made sense to him. A low paying job often meant a higher chance of things going wrong, while an intermingling of lifestyles often created an opportunity for the other party to manipulate you. However, the third rule left him confused. 

“Ma’am?” He asked his instructor one day. “How is it possible to fall in love with one's target? Surely one wouldn’t allow themselves to develop a weakness like that.” 

The woman sighed, pressing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You would think that, but many in our line of work become so focused on completing the job, they let their obsessive emotions overpower their critical thinking.” She tapped her desk, her long red nails clinking against the wood. “In the end, we deal with them to the best of our ability. Make sure we won’t have to deal with you.” 

“Of course,” Wilbur replied. “I have no intention of disobeying orders any time soon.” 

\--- 

After completing his training, Wilbur was assigned into the care of a man known as Phil. Phil was a longtime associate of the Guild, having started as a teen and worked his way up into the management position. Wilbur recognized the name immediately, as the man was known throughout the Guild, being treated with the utmost respect. 

“It's an honor to work alongside you.” He said, holding out his hand. The blond laughed and began shaking it. 

“Likewise mate.” 

Phil was truly unlike any man had ever met. He did not strike an intimidating figure, what with his green jacket and sweatbands, but on the job, he was a dead shot, nailing every target and never missing. 

Alongside his talent, Phil was also a great conversationalist, having a wealth of knowledge at his command that Wilbur was envious of. The man exuded confidence and wisdom, and while he did not always understand what the older gentlemen meant, he knew that he spoke from experience. After about a year working alongside him, he and Phil welcomed two other figures to their office: a man by the moniker of Technoblade, and Phil's own son, Tommy. 

The addiction of these two took Wilbur a great while to adjust to. Techno was extremely private and sarcastic, spending all lunch breaks pouring over the files of former Guild members in order to learn from their mistakes. The pink haired man was also one of, if not the best hand to hand fighter within the Guild, often being sent on the group's behalf to underground fight rings, where he would always emerge victorious. 

Tommy, on the other hand, served as Techno's exact opposite, loud and brash. Like his father, Tommy had a sheer presence to him, his skills surpassing those of other trainees his age. Unlike his father, Tommy had a habit of giving into every temptation, and while showing great potential, he had a tendency to go too far when attempting to extract information, leading to many close calls. 

They formed a strange group, always seemingly on the brink of stabbing one another in the back. Rarely would a day pass without Tommy and Wilbur arguing while an annoyed Phil tried to calm them down as Techno intentionally provoked them into further conflict. For a group boasting such skill, they had a reputation for having things go wrong, be it a missed shot or the simple rustling of a bush. 

And yet, by some miracle, everything would end up in the right place. Information was attained, targets were killed, threats were treated in kind. By all accounts, Wilbur believed something should have gone wrong a long time ago. 

The four of them shared an apartment a 10 minutes metro ride from the office. Like their dynamics within their workplace, it was chaotic; Tommy dragged dirt into the house, Techno yelled at him, Phil tried to maintain the peace and Wilbur would slam his door and blast music to drown out the yelling. 

They were unbearably annoying, a constant reminder to him that he would never complete the dreams he held onto all his life. 

Wilbur wouldn’t have it any other way. 

\--- 

Wilbur's life was altered forever one January morning, when Phil knocked on the wall of Wilburs office door and held up an envelope. It had been a particularly cold morning, one made worse when Tommy had bumped into him, sending his cup of boiling hot coffee all over his pants, nearly giving him third degree burns in the process. Wilbur sat in his chair, holding an ice pack on his legs when Phil approached him. 

“What's this for?” Wilbur asked. The envelope was different from the ones he usually received, a large stamp placed over its opening. 

“Special assignment for you. Higher ups orders.” The man replied. Wilbur grabbed the envelope and tore it open, dumping its contents onto his desk. He picked up the brown folder, flipping through its contents. At the front was a neatly printed piece of paper with a photo of a man paper clipped to it. 

_ Name: George Ashworth _

_ DoB: November 1, 1996 _

_ Home Address: Apartment 39, Mayview Complex, Hayden Avenue _

_ Workplace Address: Mushnik's Flower Emporium, 17th Street _

Wilbur flipped through the pages. Like any other assignment, the details were brief. From what he read in his simple look through, his target was the son of Daniel Ashworth, executive of the Hyperion Oil company, a name famous throughout the Guild as being one of the few targets they hadn’t been able to eliminate. 

“When am I supposed to have this done by?” Wilbur asked, looking up from the papers. 

“No set date.” Wilbur paused at that. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Means you’ve got as much time as you need. The higher ups want this done efficiently. Poison only.” Wilbur looked back at his papers, pulling the photo out from underneath the paperclip. His target looked young, far younger than his usual assignments. His hair and eyes were dark, with high cheekbones and small traces of stubble around his chin. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be the perfect picture of what ordinary looked like. 

Wilbur knew that wasn’t true. 

“So what's the plan?” 

Phil shrugged. “Up to you man. This is your assignment, not ours.” 

Wilbur traced his finger along the edges of the photo, before standing up and pinning it to the corkboard on his wall. He stared at it for a moment and sighed. “Phil, can I borrow your car?”


	2. Mushnik's Flower Emporium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur meets his target

Mushnik’s Flower Emporium, Wilbur concluded, was anything but nice. The building was situated between two abandoned buildings advertising their purchase to the outside world in an area of London Wilbur would call anything but cozy. The dark green paint was peeling and blotchy from repeated attempts to cover up bits of graffiti. Wilbur could spot a sizable crack in one of its windows, and the sign advertising its name was slanted, clearly in desperate need of repair. 

To be concise, Wilbur declared it to be on the brink of collapse. With a sigh, he pulled the stick door handle and stepped in, noting how it was just as cold inside as it was outside. Large green leaves and trails of half dead plants hung from the ceiling and walls, making maneuvering to the front difficult. Wilbur repeatedly batted away the flies whose incessant buzzing filled the air. He noted a foul smell coming from the large Venus fly trap sitting in the display window, and scrunched his nose. 

“Hello, how can I help you today?” A voice rang out. Wilbur turned to spot a man standing by the register wearing an obnoxious green apron.

“Hello,” He responded. “I’m looking for some flowers for my girlfriend. We had a fight, and I want to make it up to her tonight.”

The man smiled. “Of course, flowers are always a great gift when trying to make things work again. Is there anything you have in mind?”

“Oh no, I’m a complete nonce when it comes to this kind of thing. Got any recommendations…” He trailed off, staring at the man's name tag. “George?”  _ Bingo! _

“Well…” George hummed, glancing around the room. “Hyacinths,” he pointed to a batch of purple flowers to Wilbur's right, “And Daffodils are commonly meant to signify forgiveness.” He raised the wooden bar and stepped past Wilbur, plucking the flowers from their containers. “Of course, white orchids and yellow roses are often used as apologies.” He reached up and grabbed a white plant hanging from the ceiling, holding the plants out to Wilbur for approval. “Is this alright with you?”

_ No.  _ “Looks good to me.” He replied.

“Great.” George returned back to his previous spot behind the register, placing the flowers onto the counter and ducking down. He pulled out a long sheet of paper and began rolling the flowers up, before grabbing scissors. “How has your day been so far?” He asked. 

Wilbur shrugged. “Par for the course. Got assigned to a new project at work, talked with coworkers, the works.” 

George hummed. “Well, it's been pretty quiet today. Had our usual homeless man from across the street, early open rushes, the typical fellows.” He joked. Wilbur nodded his head. “So,” George said, tying string around the wrapped up flowers. “Mind me asking about the missus?”

Wilbur chuckled. “Oh, you know how it is. She comes home late and I’m seated on the couch, not having done a single thing she asked me to do that morning, shit happens.” George nodded, tying the string into a bow. 

“Well, I hope she likes this.” He placed the finished bouquet onto the counter and stepped towards the old register, pressing several of the buttons, before turning to look up at Wilbur. “Your total will be 7 pounds.” Wilbur reached into his wallet and pulled out his credit card. 

“Do you do credit?” George smiled at him painfully.

“Sorry, we only accept cash.” Wilbur sighed, and began to flip through his bills. 

“I’ve only got a  £5.”

George let out a sigh, before shaking his hand. “It's nothing, I’ll cover the extra.”

“You don’t need to-”

“I insist. You’re just trying to make things right with your girl, I wouldn’t want to accidentally ruin things between you.”

“Really, I can go to the ATM and get some more-”

“It's fine. You can make it up to me some other time.” Wilbur paused. 

“Some other time?”

“Yea,” George responded. “Just, buy me a coffee or something. Lord knows I need to stay warm in here.” He rubbed his hands together for emphasis. Wilbur chuckled and placed the bill on the counter, picking up the bouquet in the process. 

“Consider it a deal.” He chuckled, and walked to the exit. “Thank you so much, you’ve been a real lifesaver!”

“Hey, you owe me one!” George exclaimed, a smirk covering his face. “I’ll see you again soon!”

“You too!” Wilbur said, opening the door and stepping back outside, where the bitter wind burned his cheeks. Shivering, he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and walked back to Phil's car, turning on the ignition and heading back to the office. 

\---

“So how’d it go?” Tommy asked as Wilbur stepped into the room. Wilbur glared at him. 

“Give me a moment to put my stuff down before you start jumping down my throat.” He responded, pulling his scarf and coat off. “I just got here.”

“Yea Tommy,” Techno said, looking up from his book. “Let the man breathe.”

“You’re one to talk.” Tommy huffed. Techno narrowed his eyes.

“If you’re implying something, feel free to speak as clearly as possible.”

“Oi,” Phil's voice rang out as he poked his head out from behind his cubicle. “The two of you better not be starting shit.”

“Okay dad,” Tommy groaned, returning to his seat. Phil turned to look at Wilbur. 

“So how was it? Were you able to acquire any useful information?” Wilbur nodded.

“Yea, he’ll probably be an easy target.” Wilbur responded. “Already got an excuse to see him again.” Phil raised an eyebrow.

“What's that?”

Wilbur gestured to the bouquet. “He paid the extra on these, said I could pay him back with coffee.” To his left, Techno let out a chuckle. 

“Oh, this’ll be over quickly. Poison his drink, take his body to an abandoned building and make sure no one finds it. Easy job.” He lifted his eyes from his copy of ‘The Art of War.’ “ I don’t understand why the higher ups are so adamant about you doing this yourself.”

“Hey,” Wilbur responded, passing by him and leaning against the wall. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” Techno huffed, but returned to his book. Wilbur opened the office door and stepped inside, sitting down at his desk. He opened the file still laying on the table and began flipping through it, using a highlighter to take note of any information he deemed valuable for future reconnaissance. His eyes flicked back to the photo hanging on his wall.

His mind wandered back to the man in the flower shop, and Wilbur felt pity for his target. For all intents and purposes, George seemed like a pleasant guy, if a bit awkward. Wilbur wondered to himself what George was doing working in such a decrepit old building, considering the sheer amounts of wealth his parents had. He pushed those thoughts to the side, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. 

Loathe as it was to admit, it was like Techno said, an easy case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Ao3 statistics, I thrive off of feedback so please send me all your keyboard smashes in the comments below.  
> Yea, here we go, chapter 2. Finally, some actual George content, am I right?  
> But anyway, I still have no plan for this story, but when I'm done with my stupid german exam, I might finally be able to write one.  
> And like I always say, roast me if you spot a typo.


	3. Out Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur encounters his first obstacle

In an unforeseen turn of events, it seems as if Techno had lied to him. The hit on George Ashworth was going to be more difficult than initially thought. 

This transgression would be punished. 

Wilbur returned to Mushnik's the next day, his plan perfected. He’d spent an hour the night prior preparing for it, the poisoned pills sitting neatly in a clear plastic bag found within the envelope. The pills sat comfortably in his coat pocket as he approached the flower shop. 

His life became more difficult as he stepped into the grimy store, and instead of the familiar dark haired and pale skinned man standing behind the wooden counter, he was met with a girl in her early twenties with black and blonde hair. A wrench in his plans to say the least, but Wilbur was never one to lose face. Perhaps this employee could provide him with information. 

“Hello,” He greeted, approaching the counter. 

“Hello,” The girl replied. Wilbur looked at her pin covered apron, and spotted a wite name tag with the name  _ Niki  _ scribbled in neat handwriting. “How can I help you today?”

“I was wondering if George was in today.” The gentle smile that had covered Nikis face fell, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” She asked, her voice lowered. 

“I owe him a favor.” Wilbur said coolly, slouching his shoulders to make himself appear more hesitant. “I came in yesterday and didn’t have enough cash to pay for a bouquet, so he paid for me, saying I could make it up to him.”

“Oh, that's so sweet of you.” She perked up, clapping her hands together. “George mentioned you yesterday, before we closed.”

“Yea,” Wilbur chuckled, rubbing his shoulder, leaning to the side to look past her and into the back room. “Is he in?”

“I’m really sorry,” Niki said, rubbing her hands together, “George called in sick today. Said he had a fever and that he didn’t want to make me sick.” Wilbur groaned internally. 

“Do you have any idea of when he’ll be back?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the counter. Niki shook her head. 

“George usually gets hit pretty hard when he’s sick. I wouldn’t expect him to return for a couple of days.” Niki smiled apologetically. “I can leave a message for you, if you would like that.”

Wilbur grinned. “That would be wonderful. Tell him it's Wilbur from yesterday, and that I hope to grab a cup of coffee with him when he gets better.” Niki reached beneath the counter and pulled out a pen and paper, scribbling down Wilbur's message before taping it onto the wall behind her. 

“In case I forget.” She said, and Wilbur chuckled. 

“Thanks for your help.” He said, raising his hand. “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“Goodbye!” Niki said as Wilbur passed through the door. Instantly, his smile fell and he let out a groan. 

_ This was supposed to be an easy case.  _ He thought to himself. With a sigh, he fished the keys out of his coat pocket, fingers dusting the small bag and began marching back to the car. 

\---

Back in the office, Wilbur sat at his desk, laptop open, and set about researching George Ashworth. He began with a simple google search which quickly sent him down a rabbit hole of social sites and news articles about the famous Daniel Ashworth. 

While there wasn’t much information about the millionaire's son, he was able to locate one account dating back to 2013 that bore his target's name. Scrolling down, Wilbur found several blog posts, along with an array of old photos. He saw a post of a lake, with the caption “Missing times like these. #Brighton” His home, Wilbur guessed. There were several other posts of interest, including one about his acceptance into a university with plans to study botany, one about getting his first job, and one wishing his father a happy birthday. Wilbur continued to scroll through the page in the hopes of finding any more information, but it appeared as if there was nothing of use. 

Just as he was about to close his laptop, a post from two years ago caught his attention. It was a photo of George resting against a tree, a book in hand. He appeared to be asleep. It was strangely ethereal, Wilbur thought. George looked at peace, serene. 

Wilbur quickly banished the thought from his head as he exited the page, continuing to search the internet for any other information about his target. One article mentioned him attending university, but this was the last bit of worthwhile information he could find.

With a sigh, he turned his laptop off and closed it, leaning back in his chair, his arms stretched behind his head. His task may take longer than expected, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d always been able to complete his assignments on time and as expected. 

A small voice in his head told him this case would be different. Wilbur ignored it. 

\---

Three days after his first attempt to meet up with George failed, Wilbur returned once again to the decrepit flower shop, and was promptly greeted by a familiar voice. Glancing upwards, his heart jolted at the sight of his target standing behind the counter, a smile stretching across his face.

“It's you again!” George exclaimed. “Wilbur, was it?”

Wilbur chuckled. “That's my name, don’t wear it out.” He approached the counter. “So, I heard from Niki that you were under the weather, you feeling better now?”

“Oh definitely.” George responded. “Doctor said it was just the flu, and that I just needed some time at home.” He clapped his hands together. “Did a world of difference.”

“That's good to hear.” Wilbur said. “Is now a good time to go and grab that cup of coffee I owe you?”

George looked behind him at the clock, before leaning over the counter to peer out the window. Wilbur couldn’t tell if it was George's shampoo or the flowers that were smelling so sweet. Leaning back, George said “The boss will probably not kill me if I close up shop for a couple minutes.” He smiled nervously. “Anywhere you have in mind?”

Wilbur grinned. “There's a Starbucks a couple blocks from here.”  


George pulled a face. “Oh god no.” He said, heading into the back room, pulling off his apron. “I hate Starbucks, it's all processed.”

“Oh,” Wilbur said. “Where else can we go then?”

George emerged from the backroom wearing a thick black coat and holding a red scarf in his hands. “There's a diner down the street, Peggy Sue’s. They’ve got good food, and I usually grab a bite to eat there during my lunch break.”

Wilbur reached into his pocket, rolling the pill between his fingers. Conceivably, this could still work for him, he’d always excelled in sleight of hand. “Works for me.”

George smiled. “Great!” He exclaimed, raising the bar and passing past the counter. “After you,” He gestured with his hand. Wilbur passed through the doorway and watched as George flipped the open sign to close, locking the door, before turning to look at Wilbur, a grin on his face. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, more character interactions!  
> And Niki! First time writing her, I hope I did her justice  
> I had my final test for my german school, so after 13 years of work, I am finally finished!  
> As always, roast me if you spot a typo


	4. Peggy Sue's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur takes George out for breakfast

Peggy Sues was a classic 1960's diner, filled with silver and red booths, pictures of Marilyn Monroe and small jukeboxes placed on every table. The restaurant was brightly lit, looking like it had been captured in time. Distantly, Wilbur could hear Elvis’ ‘Twist and Shout’ playing over the bustle of the restaurant and the squeaking of his shoes against the surprisingly sticky floor. He and George stood awkwardly behind a pack of teenagers, waiting to be seated by the hostess. 

“So,” George began. “How did things go with your girlfriend? You two all better now?”

“Yea,” Wilbur replied. “She thought the flowers were a bit much, but I can confirm we are back together. It's all good.” George smiled.

“I'm glad to hear that.” George said, looking Wilbur in the eye. 

“It's all thanks to you.”

“Oh please, the flowers are always a garnish. It's about the words that come from the heart”

“Truly inspiring.” Wilbur responded. George rolled his eyes.

“What can I say, I've seen my fair share of folks like you in my time at Mushnik's.” 

“Next please.” The hostess said. Wilbur and George stepped forward. “Oh hello Gogy!” The hostess exclaimed, smiling. From the corner of his eye, Wilbur could see George cringe.

“Hello Dakota.” He replied, annoyance in his voice. “Table for two please.”

Dakotas flint eyes flicked Wilbur up and down. “Who's this fellow with ya?”

“This is Wilbur, Wilbur Dakota, Dakota Wilbur.” George introduced. Dakota threw Wilbur a wink and Wilbur fought the urge to vomit. 

“Pleasure.” Wilbur replied curtly. Dakota batted her glue on lashes. 

“I've got two seats available at the counter, that alright with y'all?”

“We'll take that.” George said. Dakota stepped away from her counter and led the two to the counter, placing down two menus. 

“I hope you'll enjoy your meals.” Dakota said, winking at Wilbur once again, before walking back to her counter. Wilbur looked back to George, who was smirking, before sitting down on the red and silver barstool to the left of him.

“What?”

“Dakota liked you!” George said, wiggling a finger at Wilbur. “Oh, this is great!”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Because now she'll stop flirting with me.” He laughed. Wilbur rolled his eyes and picked up the menu, scanning down the list of items available for purchase. 

“Got any recommendations?”

George leaned over to look at Wilbur's menu. “Do you like your eggs tasting like eggs?” 

Wilbur stared at him. “Yea, who doesn't?”

“Order the eggs benedict. Trust me, it's the only good egg item on the menu.” George gripped onto Wilburs arm and looked him dead in the eye. “But whatever you do, don't tell the chef you don't like the eggs. The last person who said anything about the food was found face first in the river.”

Wilbur leaned backwards, staring at the chef. He was a burly man, easily reaching a height of 6 feet. He had large muscles and his left arm was covered in a tattoo sleeve. “D-did the chef kill him?” He stammered.

“No one knows.” George replied, his voice blank. He and Wilbur nodded their heads in silence. 

A woman in a blindingly white uniform approached them from behind the counter. She had bright curly red hair and long hot pink acrylic nails. “Anything I can get for you two?” She said, smacking her lips together and blowing a large bubble of bubble gum. 

“I'll have a cup of coffee with milk, Wilbur?” George looked over to him, and Wilbur awkwardly looked down at the menu, having been so distracted as to forget what he wanted to order. 

“Uhh,” He stammered, “What did you recommend again?” He asked. 

George sighed. “He'll have the eggs benedict and a coffee.” 

“Black.”

“Black.” George repeated. The waitress nodded, scribbling down their order on a small notepad. She blew another large bubble and let it pop.

“Food’ll be done soon.” She said, before heading back into the kitchen. Wilbur nodded, drumming his fingers against the counter. He and George sat in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say. 

“So,” George began, his hands pressed against the counter. “What do you do for a living?”1 

“I work at a solicitors office, Eddington's to be specific.” The lie rolled off the tongue with practiced ease. Wilbur used this cover story when he wanted to divulge as little information about himself as possible.

“Pay good?” George asked. 

“Yea, I'd say so.” Wilbur responded. George hummed in agreement. 

The hostess returned carrying two white mugs and a small plate. “Coffee black for you,” She placed down Wilbur's cup, “Coffee with milk, and the eggs benedict. Everything looking alright?” She asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Looks good to me.” Wilbur responded. The hostess nodded and placed down a black folder holding a receipt.

“Your total for todays going to be 3 pounds.” The hostess said before moving on to the next customer. Wilbur grabbed the silverware and unwrapped it. He brought the egg to his mouth and bit in, chewing for a few moments.

“It tastes like eggs.” He said. George grinned at him. 

“And nothing else.” He took a sip of his coffee, and to Wilbur's dismay, placed it on his left side.  _ Of course,  _ he mentally slapped himself,  _ George is left handed. There's no way at this angle I can get the pill in his drink. _

George sipped his coffee, and Wilbur continued to eat his meal in silence. Experimentally, he took a sip of his coffee. “I can definitively say it isn’t worse than Starbucks.”

“This is why you gotta listen to me about these things Wil,” George said. “I’ve been working in this area for a long time, and I know all the ins and outs of this place.” 

“Can’t knock the expert.” George sipped his coffee in agreement. The two fell back into comfortable silence. George momentarily placed his cup down to pull out his phone, but rose back to his seat too quickly for Wilbur to place the pill in his drink. 

Wilbur pulled out his wallet and placed his credit card in the black folder, the hostess returning quickly to pick it up. He finished his eggs, electing not to finish his coffee, as George began pulling on his coat. “Leaving already?”

“Yea, gotta get back before the boss notices I’m gone.” He brushed a strand of hair out of his face. “But this was a lot of fun. Thank you for this.”

“Oh it's no problem, anytime.” Wilbur responded. George smiled, standing awkwardly for a moment. “Do you want to leave now?” 

“Oh god yes.” George breathed, his cheeks flushed. “Thank you again.” He raised his right hand in a wave, before turning tail and walking out the door. Wilbur watched as he left, running his fingers over the pill. He sighed. _ Guess I’ll be seeing you again soon George. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Ao3 statistics, I'm in the mood for some comments lmao  
> Yea, the first "date," George really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't he?  
> I'm working on this at a snails pace, but its been fun. Chapter 8 hurt to write, so look forward to that!  
> And as usual, please roast me if you spot a typo


	5. Benched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur gets some unfortunate news about his future assignments  
> George talks to Niki

“Status update on the Ashworth case.”

With a sigh, Wilbur pulled out his folder and slammed it onto the desk, rifling through the documents within. “George Ashworth, born in 1996, working at Mushnik's Flower Emporium and former student of Micron University in Brighton, graduated in 2018 with a degree in Botany, living with two room mates in the Mayview Complex on Hayden Avenue.” Wilbur recited. “Enjoys’ coffee.”

Phil nodded his head. “I take it the hit didn’t work out today?”

“You can say that again. Can’t believe I get the one target that's left handed.”

Phil let out a bark of laughter. “Maybe that's why you got this case, to prove it's possible to kill a left-handed person.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Wilbur huffed, closing the folder. “Have we gotten a new assignment yet?”

“Tommy, Techno and I have, you’re stuck with Ashworth.” Wilbur blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean, we always do cases together.”

“Not this time.” Phil responded, holding out a folder. “I’ve been instructed to bench you until you’ve completed your kill.” Wilbur grabbed the folder and began flipping through it. Neatly printed on the second page was a note.

_ Guild Member Wilbur Soot is barred from this assignment and any future assignment, pending his completion of the Ashworth case. _

Letting out a groan, Wilbur let his head fall onto the table. “This isn’t fair.” He moaned.

Phil shrugged. “Sorry kid, it's out of my hands.” He clapped Wilbur on the shoulder. “Just means you have to work harder.” If looks could kill, Phil would be 6 feet under the ground. “But hey, I bet when all this is over, you’ll be begging to go back to working alone. You don’t have to deal with Tommy and Techno’s bickering.

Wilbur did his best to contain his smirk. “Yea, I guess that is a plus. Not having to deal with those two.”

“You say that now, but we know you love us.” Wilbur handed Phil his file, and the blond began to walk past his desk. “For real though, get this done soon. We miss you Wil.”

Wilbur sighed. “I miss you too.”

\---

The cold air bit at George's skin as he marched back to the flower shop, his hand pressed tightly around the keys. Checking his watch, he noted the time, 9:28, just two minutes before Niki was supposed to arrive and begin her shift. Unlike him, Niki didn’t have access to the keys, so if he was late, she would be locked out.

As he hurried back to his workplace, his mind wandered to his meeting with Wilbur. While it had certainly been an awkward experience, he had still enjoyed himself. It was a welcome change to the monotonous daily life he led. George wondered if he should have asked for the man's number, before mentally slapping himself; Wilbur had a girlfriend.

Approaching the store, he spotted a familiar head of black and blond hair leaning against the window, her eyes pressed against the glass. “Hey Niki!” He yelled. Niki startled, her eyes meeting his as he grabbed hold of the doorknob and pressed the key into the lock.

“George!” She exclaimed, her breath visible in the cold. “Where have you been? I saw the door was unlocked and the lights were out and was worried something had happened.”

“It's my bad.” He said, unlocking the door and opening it to let her in. “Wilbur dropped by today and invited me for coffee.”

“Wilbur,” Niki repeated the name before her eyes lit up. “Oh Wilbur, the man who came in asking about you and who had me leave a message.”

“That's the one.”

“How did it go?” She asked. George pulled off his coat and lifted the wooden bar of the counter, grabbing his apron before tossing Niki's to her. 

“I think it went well. We went to Peggy Sues and he tried the eggs.”

Niki flinched. “What kind of eggs did he get?”

“The eggs benedict.” George said. “What, you thought I was going to let him try any other kind? I’m not a monster.”

Niki laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. George smiled, and turned his attention toward putting on his apron. After his third attempt, he was finally able to tie the apron into a knot. “Do we have any orders for today?” 

George walked over to the phone, checking for a yellow light indicating a left message. “Doesn’t look like it.” 

Niki let out a long sigh. “Do you mind turning the heat on?” She said, rubbing her arms.

“Do you think it’ll work this time.” George deadpanned. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” George walked over to the thermostat and began pressing the buttons to raise the temperature. He heard the heater turn on momentarily, before the metal let out a long groan and give out. “It was worth a shot.”

“Yea.” Niki raised the wooden beam of the counter and passed George, walking into the backroom and appearing again with a broom and pan.

“Wanna help?” She asked, holding out the pan. George nodded, taking hold of the red container and lowering his body into a crouching position. “Did you have fun?”

“Hmm?”

“On your date?”

George choked. “It wasn’t a date.” He exclaimed, his cheeks glowing. “It was just a formal get together. Nothing more.”

Niki raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” She said, her voice lowered, a smirk crossing her face. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” George responded dryly. “Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

“Really, darn.” Niki said, sweeping the dirt on the floor into a pile and into Georges pan. George rose back to his feet and walked towards the trash can, dropping the dirt into it.

“Hey, that's just the way the cookie crumbles. I’m not going to be a mistress anytime soon.” George replied, shrugging. “Now what?”

Niki pouted her lips. “You could show me pictures of your cat again.” George groaned. 

“But we do that every time we don’t have anything to do. Besides, I haven’t taken any new ones, so it’s just the same 10 photos on repeat.”

“But hear me out,” Niki said, leaning against the counter. “They are really cute and I don’t have a cat so I’m relying on you.” She batted her eyelashes. “Pretty please?”

George stared at her before letting out a moan. “I can’t say no to you, can I?”

“Nope.” Niki exclaimed. With a sigh, George reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and unlocking it, before handing it over to her. 

\---

“Hey Wilbur,” Tommy's voice rang through the small office. “Mission debriefing.”

“I can’t,” Wilbur replied, not looking up from his laptop. “I’m not working any other cases until I’m done with Ashworth’s.” 

“What?!” Tommy roared, stomping towards Wilbur's desk. “What do you mean you’re not working other cases, we’ve got a new one literally today.”

“Tommy,” Phil's voice called out. “Wilbur's not going to be working with us until he’s completed his case.”

“Well why not?” Tommy said, staring at his father, who had approached Wilbur's cubicle.

“Special orders from the heads of the Guild.”

“Can’t you like, veto them or something?” Tommy asked, his voice raised. “You’re literally his handler!”

“I could, but again, special orders from the heads of the Guild. I do not need them on our back, especially now.” Phil hissed, his voice lowered. Wilbur turned his head.

“What do you mean, especially now?” He asked. Phil’s face remained unreadable, but Tommy lacked his fathers mastery of emotion. The teens eyes were big, an expression Wilbur knew to mean that something had gone wrong. “Phil, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Of course not.” Phil said, his voice level. “What I meant is that we want to keep ourselves out of trouble with the head members as long as possible. We don’t always need them breathing down our necks.” He placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder. “Come on, let's let Wilbur do his work in peace.”

“But what about-” Tommy was shut up by a knowing look from Phil, and the two walked back to their desks. Wilbur’s eyes followed them as they left.

Someone had something to hide. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Ao3 Statistics, I'm in the mood for some likes  
> As always, I'm late to the update, but when am I ever on time?  
> Pray for me y'all, I got a math test this week and I'm gonna fail  
> As always, roast me if you spot a typo


	6. Wii Sports and Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George gets a message from his father and talks with his roommates

Around 8:30 pm, George and Nik watered the plants a final time, took out the trash and by 8:43, had locked the doors behind them. Wilbur watched the pair from afar, seated in Phil's 2013 Toyota Prius, his seat lowered in an attempt to make it more difficult to be seen. He watched as George waved goodbye to the girl before beginning his walk back to his apartment. As George turned the corner, he turned the key in the ignition, slowly pulling out of his parking spot and trailing after the man. George's walk took approximately 20 minutes, so he would often have to find a parking spot in order to not drive past him. 

When George approached his apartment complex, Wilbur pulled into the parking lot, keeping his eyes on the man. He watched as he entered the building, noting what he believed to be the presence of a security guard behind the glass door. As George disappeared from sight, he pulled out his phone, attempting to pass the time in order to not arouse suspicion from the security guard. After about ten minutes, he started the engine and drove back to the office, where he returned the car to Phil and made his way towards the metro. 

\---

The first thing George heard when he opened the door to his apartment was the sound of yelling. Glancing into the living room, he spotted his roommates, Eret and Fundy, Wii controller in hand, playing what he recognized to be Wii Sports Boxing. Fundy was currently shouting at Eret, most likely indicating that he had been knocked out, while Eret just laughed.

Fundy worked as a sales clerk in a department store. Originally from the Netherlands, the redhead had moved to Britain five years ago. George had met him when he worked in retail, the two often sharing their lunch breaks together. Eret and George went back further, having met at a club in London. George had had too much to drink, and Eret, not knowing what to do with him, brought him back to his place. 

When George was looking for a new place to live, it was Eret who had suggested the start renting together. The first few weeks were awkward, as Fundy and Eret didn’t know a lot about each other, but the two quickly became close friends, bonding over their love of video games and height dominance over George

“I’m back!” He yelled, startling Fundy, who shrieked and jumped, causing Eret to laugh even harder. George entered the kitchen and opened the fridge, scanning the compartments for edible food. “Did someone eat my leftovers?” He yelled. 

“Yea, Fundy!” Eret yelled back. Fundy sputtered.

“No I didn’t!” The redhead exclaimed.

“Oh really?” Eret responded. “Then why is George's takeout container in the trashcan in your room?” Fundy turned to look at George and frantically shook his head. 

“George, he's lying. You know me, I would never do that, especially to you.”

“Hmm,” George said, tapping his finger against his chin. “As I seem to recall, you have a habit of taking food that isn’t yours.”

“Not this time, I swear.” Fundy begged. 

George sighed. “It's fine, just pay me back.” Fundy nodded his head rigorously. He turned back the fridge and began rifling through it. “Eret, do we still have any tortillas left?”

“Yea, bottom drawer.” Eret responded. Pulling the drawer out, George grabbed the tortillas, along with a bag of shredded cheese and set about making a quesadilla. He put his meal into the microwave and walked into his room, throwing his coat onto the chair. He pulled out his phone and began checking social media when he heard the microwave ding.

Back in the kitchen, he got the quesadilla out of the microwave and began biting into it, watching as his roommates moved on from Wii Sports Resort to Mario Kart. As always, Fundy was failing miserably at Rainbow Road and attempting to sabotage Eret by knocking into the man. The two began arguing again, and George tuned them out, his eyes flickering to the landline placed on the table holding up the TV. The landline’s light was blinking. 

“Hey guys,” He called. “Did anyone call today?”

“Yea,” Eret said, his eyes glued to the screen. “I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go straight to voicemail.” A gnawing feeling began to fester within Georges stomach, and he marched over to the TV, picking up the phone and pressing play. The voice of George's father began to play. 

_ Hey George, it's me, your old man. Sorry to have missed you, I guess you’re working late tonight, I’m just calling to let you know that Hyperion is having a big celebration in the upcoming month, and your mother and I thought it would be nice for you to join us. It's been awhile since we’ve seen each other, and we wanted to maybe do some catching up. Feel free to call us back anytime. _

The phone beeped, signifying the end of the message, and George lowered the phone from his ear, placing it back on the stand. He stood in place for a moment, unsure what to do as he felt the eyes of his roommates on him. 

“Who was that?” Fundy asked. 

“My dad.” George replied. “He just invited me to a party at his workplace.”

“Oh.” Fundy said, twiddling the controls through his hands. “Do you want to go?”

“No, I don’t want to go!” George exclaimed, startling the two. Regret poured over him, and he walked over to the couch, sitting down. “Sorry, I just really don’t want to see him.”

Eret and Fundy exchanged a look. “You know,” Eret began, “You’ve never really talked about your family in all the time you’ve been living here. Is there anything about them you want to talk about?”

George sighed, grabbing one of the pillows and pulling it to his chest. “It's, it's complicated, alright?”

Eret nodded his head. “If you’re not comfortable talking about it, we won’t press you for details. But if you ever want to open up about it, we’ll be ready to listen.”

“Thanks guys.” George said, rubbing his hands across the pillow. 

“You’re welcome.” Fundy replied. He turned back to the game. “Now I’m going to kick your ass Eret!”

“You severely overestimate your skills, young one.” Eret replied, and the game began once more. George watched as the two began competing, laughing at Fundy’s screams and cries for a rematch. The two played for another hour before deciding to end the night. 

“George, do you want to play?” Fundy asked, looking over at his friend, before snickering. George was leaning against the corner of the couch asleep, a puddle of drool staining the pillow. “We could do it, you know.”

Eret looked down at him. “Fundy, I know exactly what you’re implying, and I wholeheartedly agree.” Grinning, the two grabbed a marker and began drawing on George's face. “Oh, he is going to be pissed tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Ao3 statistics, only 5% of readers comment, so please validate me and my attempt at literature  
> do you guys smell that? smells like foreshadowing  
> I passed my math test with a 68% y'all, thats an improvement  
> Also, I've been listening to Pippin the musical everyday for the last month and I'm just saying,,, Pippin and Catherine,,, Georgebur energy  
> mayhaps in the future,,, in like a year, since each chapter is getting longer and longer and it takes me 3-5 business days to even write 4k words,,,,rip


	7. Phone Calls from the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur gets a phone call about one of his friends

Georges day had been, for lack of a better term, dogshit. His morning began on the wrong foot when he slept through his alarm, and was awoken by his roommates shoving a wipe in his face before shoving him out the apartment door. The cold January air bit at him as he took off down the street, hastily wiped off the pen markings on his face, but without a reflective surface to look at, he had no way of knowing if he was walking around with a smeared face or not. 

The first shift had also not been kind to him, as he spent the first two hours frantically making wedding arrangements for a woman who had shown up minutes after he arrived. And despite making 10 rush hour bouquets, the woman was extremely rude, constantly insisting his work was poor and that she could do better. 

By the time the clock struck 10:45, he was dreaming about finishing his shift and throwing himself onto his bed. 

Georges daydreaming was interrupted when the door opened with a loud creek, and a man in a dark coat stepped inside. “Hello,” He greeted, “Welcome to Mushnik's, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, hey George.” The customer responded, voice sounding eerily familiar. George paused for a moment, before realization struck. 

“Wilbur!” He exclaimed, and the brunette chuckled. “It's nice to see you again!”

Wilbur chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's nice to see you too.”

“How are you?” He asked.

“Doing alright.” Wilbur responded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “My boss had me working on paperwork for a client's case up until 3 in the morning.”

George sucked in his breath. “That's rough buddy.” Wilbur nodded his head. “How's your girlfriend been?”

“Sally, oh she's been wonderful. We’re doing much better now.”

George raised an eyebrow. “You never told me her name.” When Wilbur froze, George hastily added “Not that that's a problem. You’re entitled to your privacy. I was just- I didn’t mean to imply-” He cut himself off, rubbing his fingers over his knuckles. “I’m shutting up now.”

Wilbur let out a laugh, and George could feel his insides squirming. His laugh was pleasant, and he found himself wanting to hear it again.  _ Stop that. _ He thought to himself.

“It's no problem mate.” Wilbur responded, waving his hand. “If anything, that makes me a bad boyfriend, not even mentioning my girls name. Oh, she would have my head, I tell you that.” 

George rested his hands on the counter. “She sounds lovely.”

Wilbur smiled. “What about you?” He asked, stepping closer to the counter. “Any special someone for you?”

“No,” George blurted out. “No, I haven’t been in the dating scene for quite some time.”

“Really?” Wilbur asked, raising his eyebrows. “I thought a guy like you would be having to fight off swarms of girls.”

_ Did he just… Does he think I’m attractive?  _ George shrugged, attempting to keep himself calm as his mind buzzed. “Well, I’ve just got a lot of work on my plate right now. Don’t really think I can squeeze a boyfriend in there.”

Wilbur cocked his head. “Boyfriend?” George felt his stomach drop, his mind racing to understand any potential implications within his tone. 

“Yea.” He replied, staring Wilbur in the eyes. “Boyfriend.” Wilbur shrugged. 

“Hey, good for you.” Wilbur said, a smirk crossing his face. George let out a breath, scratching the top of his hand nervously. “I’m sure there's a man out there dying to have you.”

George chuckled. “Me too.” He exclaimed awkwardly, running his hands across the counter, his fingers catching on the bits of chipped wood. 

Silence fell over the room as George focused his attention on the counter. Wilbur cleared his throat, and George's head shot up. “So, I was wondering, what’s it like to work here? Any special requirements, training, that sort of stuff?”

George considered his words for a moment, leaning against the counter. “Lemmie think, it's just the usual stuff, you have to go through a week long training where Mr. Mushnik teaches you how to arrange and care for your flowers, taking orders and keeping inventory.” He began picking at a chip of wood on the edge of the counter. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got a friend who's in between work right now, was wondering if this kind of job was up to his standards.” Wilbur placed his hand onto the counter, fingers fiddling with the bits of ribbon left over from the mornings orders. “Do you like working here?”

“God yes.” George exclaimed. “It's the best place I’ve ever worked.” He paused. “I mean, okay, there are a few downsides like the AC never working and Mr. Mushnik being really incompetent at managing this place and the problem with homelessness, but apart from that,” He shrugged his shoulders. “I love it here.”

“Good to know.” Wilbur replied. His face blanked for a moment, before he reached into his coat and pulled out his phone, staring at it for a moment, before his eyes widened. 

George stood silently. “Is something wrong?” He asked, hesitantly. Wilbur didn’t look up from his phone. 

“My friends in the hospital.” He whispered, George straining his ears to hear him. He looked up, and George could see the panic in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, I have to go.”

“No, no.” George exclaimed, waving his hands. “It's no problem, do what you have to do.” Wilbur nodded his head and waved before turning around and rushing out the door, nearly knocking over Niki as she attempted to enter the shop. 

“Oh, sorry!” He said, grabbing Niki by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes.” Niki stammered, before Wilbur rushed past her and down the street. With confusion covering her face, she stepped into the shop. “What was that about?”

“He got a text saying his friend was in the hospital.” George said.

“Oh,” Niki sighed, turning her head to look back at the door. “I hope it isn’t serious.”

“Me too.” George replied. Reaching over, he raised the counter, allowing Niki to pass. 

“What was he doing here?” She asked, grabbing her apron from off the wall. 

“Getting an order.” George replied, sweeping his hand across the counter to collect the bits of ribbon and plant stems that had settled on the wooden surface. Turning to look over his shoulder, he spotted Niki looking at him with a strange look on her face. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” She said, turning around to tie her apron behind her back. “It just seems to me like he didn’t order anything.” 

George stared at her in confusion. “So?”

“So, he was here to see you.” She said, nudging him with her elbow. George stood still for a moment, before realization dawned on him and he groaned. 

“Niki, he literally still has a girlfriend.”

“I never said he was interested in you like that.” She said, raising her hands in a defensive manner. “I’m just saying, he wants to be your friend.” 

George rolled his eyes. “Piss off.” He hissed, and Niki began to laugh, walking into the backroom. He watched her leave before picking up the trashcan and bringing it to the edge of the counter, pushing the scraps into the container below. 

Nikis words began to spiral through his head, and he could feel his face growing warmer.  _ Knock it off.  _ He thought.  _ We’re just friends.  _

But as he focused his attention back on his work, his heart yearned for something more. 

\---

As he drove Phil's beat up car down the streets of London, Wilbur was aware of only two things. The first being the frayed leather under his palms and the second being the text message sent by Techno. 

_ Mission went wrong. Tommy in hospital. Meet up at office _

Wilbur focused his attention on the road, nearly screaming and repeatedly banging his fist on the steering wheel with every red light he hit. After what felt like hours, he arrived at the office and rushed inside, making no efforts to talk with the receptionist as he made his way to the stairwell. Sprinting up the stairs, he marched down the hall and into the office space he and the other guild members shared. 

Opening the door, the first sight he saw was the familiar pink hair of Techno, sitting in the kitchen area, rolling gauze around his knuckles. “Techno,” He yelled out, and the man looked up from his task. “What's going on?”

“We ran into some difficulties during the extraction.” Techno replied, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “The target had more security than expected, and they got a leg up on Tommy.” He turned his head slowly to look Wilbur in the eye, who had seated himself next to him. “We took care of them.”

“What about Tommy?” Wilbur asked, placing his hands on the table. 

Techno sighed. “He and Phil are in the hospital. The bullet entered his arm and lodged itself in his chest, right near his heart. Inch to the left and he would be a dead man walking.”

Wilbur let out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. “Shit.” He murmured. Techno hummed in agreement. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“Phil's pulling some strings to get him dispatched from the hospital tonight, so that the doctors don’t become suspicious.” Wilbur slumped in his seat, staring at the table. Distantly, he noted Techno handing him a cup of coffee, and he quietly sipped it, electing not to complain about the sweetness. “Do you want to go home?”

“Yeah,” Techno replied, running his hands down his arms, a distant look on his face. “Let's go home.”

\---

It was around 11 pm when Phil and Tommy returned from the hospital. Techno had picked them up, and had elected to carry Tommy to his room with Phil trailing close behind. Wilbur watched as Techno placed Tommy in his bed, his stomach clenching at the sounds the teen emitted. He turned away, attempting to muffle out Phil's words to his son, his voice on the verge of tears.

Wilbur sat on the couch with Techno, their focus turned to the television. It was one of those crap tv shows, with terrible acting and inane arguments that existed to fill out some quota for trash television, but Wilbur couldn’t care less. All he could do was train his eyes on the screen to keep the guilt away. 

_ Perhaps if he had been there, things might have gone differently. Maybe Tommy wouldn’t have almost died today.  _

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard snoring. Glancing up, he spotted Techno leaning against the couch, his eyes closed, emitting a quiet snore. Any other day, Wilbur would have grabbed his phone and taken a photo of the sight before making a loud noise to frighten him awake. 

But today was not one of those days, so with a groan, he rose to his feet, pulling the blanket over his friend and turned off the tv. Placing down the remote, he made his way towards his bedroom, when he bumped into a mass. He startled, but calmed down when he heard Phils gentle voice say “Sorry about that.”

“It's no problem.” He replied, stepping to the side. Phil was leaning against the doorway to Tommy's room, where Tommy was asleep in bed, bandages covering the exposed skin peeking out from under the blanket. “How’s he doing?”

Phil kept his eyes trained on his son. “He’s getting better.” His voice was low, and Wilbur rubbed his arm awkwardly. “Why did I let him get into this?”

Wilbur looked at his friend. Phil had bags under his eyes, enough to put at least 10 years on him. For the first time, Wilbur realized how old Phil really was. He had been working with the Guild for almost three decades now, longer than Wilbur had been alive. 

“Is something wrong Phil.” He asked hesitantly. Phil remained frozen, his eyes wandering downwards.

“He’s only sixteen.” He muttered. “He shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Phil-”

“Why did I let him do this?” He looked up, and Wilbur could spot the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “What have I done?”

“Hey,” Wilbur whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. You couldn’t control today's outcome. Besides,” He chuckled. “This is Tommy we’re talking about, he always bounces back.”

Phil let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, and looked over at Wilbur with a smile. He extended his arms and pulled Wilbur into an embrace. Wilbur raised his arms to hug him back, not putting up his usual resistance to such signs of affection. 

The two separated, and Phil wiped the tears from his eyes. “Thank you Wil.”

“You’re welcome.” Phil turned back to his son and closed the door, walking to his room. Wilbur watched him leave, before walking to his room and throwing himself onto the bed, not putting in any efforts to get himself ready for bed.

He turned his eyes back to his door, where he could see light emitting from Phil's room. He stood up to go close the door when his ears caught Phil talking to himself. 

“Maybe it's time for us to leave.” Wilbur stepped back, cursing himself as the floor creaked underneath him. Phil went silent, and with his cover blown, Wilbur closed the door and returned to his bed. 

Phils words echoed through his mind as sleep slowly enveloped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl this chapter hurt to write... but i enjoyed myself greatly  
> for future reference, the chapter updates might become stretched out, as they are becoming longer, and I don't have as much time to work on them
> 
> also, important question, i've been thinking of starting a discord server for this story. it'll be fairly small, just a way for my readers to discuss the story and your thoughts on it. i've never run a discord server before, so it would take some trial and error, but if anyone is interested, please let me know. 
> 
> as always, roast me if you spot a typo


	8. A Walk in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Wilbur confide in one another

As sunlight beamed through the cracks in his blinds, George blearily opened his eyes, staring at the blinking neon lights of his alarm clock. The green numbers illuminated the time: 6:59, and with a groan, George dropped his head onto the pillow, attempting to gain any semblance of sleep in the minute he had left.

When the alarm clock began beeping, George slammed his hand on the stop button, and with a groan, rolled himself out of bed. He dragged himself to his closet, pulling out a blue top and pants, before walking into the kitchen.

He sat down at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a bowl of cereal as he swiped aimlessly through his phone as he ate. Finishing, he placed his milk bowl back into the fridge and began to walk back to his room, when his eye spotted a blinking light emitting from the landline. He marched over to the entertainment center, picked up the phone and pressed the button to play messages. 

_ Hi, I’m Ted Nivison, calling on behalf of Cre-  _ delete

_ Attention, your ip address has been compromised- _ delete

_ Hello George- Wait, that's Dad _ . George picked his finger off of the delete button and pressed the phone closer to his ear. 

_ -hoping my last message reached you, as we never got a response. Your mother sends her love, she insists I tell you this.  _ George heard him chuckle.  _ Anyway, since you never responded to my previous phone call, I felt it was necessary to get an answer from you, as there is a matter that requires your attention. Like I said in my previous call, Hyperion is hosting a major party for shareholders, and considering my influence over the company, I feel it is necessary to present a strong public image. I am formally requesting that you come to this event, it's at the Pavillion Business Center on the 16 of February, black tie event. Please come George, your mother misses you.  _

As the landline beeped to indicate the end of the message, George slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He stood still for a moment, attempting to gather his thoughts. How pathetic was it, he thought, that the only time he could ever get his father to talk to him was when he wanted something. George let out a sharp laugh, before pressing in his fathers number and bringing the phone to his ear, letting the dial ring through his body as he thought of what to say. 

“Hey dad,” He breathed, running his fingers along the edge of the entertainment table. “I just got your message, about the Hyperion Party next week and I really just wanted to say-” He paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair. George could feel the words in the back of his throat, but he could not will them to come out.

For his entire life, all it took was a single glance or the slight raise of his voice for George’s father to shut him down, both in spirit and in behavior. As the seconds passed by, he recalled all the instances in his life where his father had waved off his passions and desires, filling him a manner of emotions that made him feel as if his soul was being weighed. 

_ Not anymore _ , he thought to himself. 

With a deep breath, he spoke again. “I have no interest in attending this party, not because I have a prior engagement, but because I simply do not want to spend time with a bunch of people who think and act like you. Tell mom I’m sorry, but I’m not going.” He let out a deep breath. “Thanks for calling.” With that, he pressed the stop button and slammed the phone back on the receiver. 

George stood still for a moment, letting the moment pass over him and inhaling deeply, before letting himself fall onto the couch. His breath began to quicken, and a feeling of static spread across his body. He lay there for a moment, his heartbeat drumming in his ears, allowing himself to bask in his success. 

He stood up to his father. 

The feeling of joy sparked within his chest as a smile cracked his lips upwards, before it dropped again. A feeling of dread ran through him, as George considered the actions he had just taken. 

He had just stood up to his father. Not even that, he had refused his father on a business matter, on his image. This was a mistake, his mind declared, a mistake that would cost him. There was no way of knowing what the consequences of this action would be. His fathers business came before anything else, even his family.

He rose from the couch, staring at the phone. It remained static, unmoving, its yellow light no longer flaring. George considered for a moment allowing himself to rush forward and bring the phone to his ear, calling his father back and begging for forgiveness. Apologize for his harsh words and accept his invitation to spend a night leaning against the wall, getting drunk and feeling worse about himself. 

He sighed. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe now his father would never invite him to such an event again. He could consider that a win at least. 

Stretching his arms behind his back, George walked into the hallway, pulling his shoes from the shoe rack. Once he put them on, he grabbed his coat, scarf and car keys, and stepped out the door. 

The new day awaited him. 

\---

If the jingle of the door didn’t alert George to the presence of a customer, the familiar voice of Wilbur crying “Gogy!” certainly did. George turned around from his task of pressing a sticky note against the cork board to raise his eyebrow at his beanie clad friend.

“Was that really necessary?” He asked, crossing his arms. Wilbur smirked, and threw his arms up in the air. 

“I needed to get you attention.”

“What if I was working with a customer? Surely, you would have frightened them. I mean, a 7 foot man dressed in black shouting at you, that's enough to send you jumping out of your skin.”

Wilbur shrugged. “Good thing you didn’t have a customer then.” George rolled his eyes, and leaned against the counter.

“What do you want Wil?”

Wilbur stepped towards the counter, leaning down so that his face was close to Georges. “A bouquet, flower boy, and a nice one at that. I’m taking Sally out tonight, and I want to thrill her.”

Sally. Wilbur's girlfriend. 

Sally, a woman who George had never met, who he knew next to nothing about, who he had never even seen a photograph of.

Sally, the word that lit his heart on fire, that upset his stomach and made his ears burn. 

He didn’t understand why he felt such visceral emotions towards a stranger, but he supposed it was just a consequence of the morning's events. The shift had been far more difficult than usual, as George found it difficult to contain his overflowing emotions, acting snippy to Niki when she asked why he was behaving so oddly. Glancing down at the counter, he made a mental note to apologize to her. 

“George?” George's head shot up, his eyes meeting Wilbur's dark ones. Wilbur was staring straight at him, and George could feel his face begin to flush. 

“Sorry,” He breathed. “I blanked for a second, could you repeat that?”

“Yea, I said I’d like an order of pink and white roses.” George nodded and stepped away from the counter, pulling the flowers from the wall and holding them out to Wilbur. “This good?”

Wilbur nodded, and George walked back behind the counter, placing the flowers down and reaching underneath to pull out the wrapping paper. He worked in silence, trying his best to ignore the feeling of Wilburs eyes on him. He grabbed a pair of scissors lying on the wooden surface, cut off a piece of ribbon and tied it around the wrapped flowers. As he completed his work, he looked up at Wilbur. “Your total will be 7 pounds.” Wilbur reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet and handed George the bills, who placed them into the register and slid the flowers towards his customer. “Thank you, have a nice day. He said, training his eyes on the door.

Slowly, Wilbur reached out and grabbed the bouquet, pressing his nose into the flowers. His eyes flickered back up to George, and he could feel his eyes roaming down his body. George looked away from the door, running the palms of his hands against the edge of the counter. “George,” Wilbur spoke, his voice tinged with concern. “Is everything alright?”

George looked back up at the brunette, who had straightened his back, making himself even larger. He swallowed, and focused his eyes on the counter, brushing away the bits of wrapping paper and flower stems left over from previous customers. “Yea,” He breathed. Wilbur raised his eyebrow.

“You don’t sound okay.” He responded, and George cringed, feeling his mask slipping. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, letting his hands sit on the wood. 

George sighed, leaning against the counter. “It's not exactly been a great day so far.”

Wilbur cocked his head. “Why's that?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve got time.” George looked back up at his friend. Wilbur was leaning towards him, concern written on his face. His eyebrows were pushed together and he was frowning. George swallowed. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.” He responded, and George felt something deep in his gut spark, a light in the pit of turmoil and upset that had clouded his mind all throughout the morning.

“Okay,” He responded, turning around and walking into the back room. “Niki!” He called. 

Niki’s head popped out of the storage room. “Yea?” She called back.

“I’m going on my lunch break, take over the ship for me.”

“Aye aye captain,” She responded. George tugged off his apron and grabbed his coat, walking back into the main shop. 

“Where do you want to go?”

\---

The cold wind burned against George's skin as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The February chill ran over him and Wilbur, who had seated themselves on a bench overlooking a large pool with a fountain in a nearby park. The two remained quiet, the silence between them only being broken by a deep sniffle and the wisps of hot breath flickering into the air. George felt at ease beside the brunette, a temporary respite from the hecticness of the morning’s events. 

“So,” Wilbur began, turning his head to look at George. “What's going on in that head of yours?” George kept his eyes trained on his lap.

“My dad called today,” He began, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to save them from the growing chill. “He invited me to this gala type thing his job is hosting.”

“Sounds awful.”

“You have no idea,” George chuckled. “I’ve gone to so many of them over the years, they’re all so boring. You spend the whole night putting on some show for a bunch of rich people because it's important to maintain a ‘family image,’ but you always leave feeling worse about yourself then when you started.” 

Wilbur grimaced. “Doesn’t sound all that appealing.” He scooched closer to George. “Is that the only reason you’re feeling upset.”

George clenched his hands together. “It's part of it.” He let out a sigh, attempting to find the words to express how emotionally frustrated he felt. “My father, well, we don’t really get along all that well. Never have, really, we’re just different, and never really had a good father-son dynamic.” He ran his hand through his hair. I don’t know, we just never seemed to click the same way other people do.”

Wilbur nodded his head. “That's uh,” he pressed a finger to his face. “That sounds like my relationship with my parents. They were the Ivy League types, always wanting excellence, and well,” He looked down at his lap. “When I didn’t share that passion for academic success, they were quick to get rid of me.” George felt his stomach drop, and Wilbur quickly began to wave his hands. “It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. We were just strangers to one another, and it honestly was for the better.” A soft smile spread across his face. “I don’t think I ever would have met my mates otherwise.”

“And Sally?”

“And Sally!” He chuckled. “My friend Phil, well, more like a coworker, introduced me to her about a year ago. Took us about a month to even go on a date, but I was head over heels for her the minute I met her.” Red blush began to brighten on Wilbur's face. “She’s really something.”

“That’s really sweet.”

_ Why does this hurt me? _

_ “What about you?” Wilbur asked. George perked up, eyes meeting Wilbur's again. “Any boyfriends, girlfriends I should know about?” _

__

“Nope,” George responded, swallowing. “Broke up with my boyfriend Clay about a year and a half ago. Was not a good relationship, I can tell you that.” He chuckled, before cringing internally. He really should not have mentioned that.

Wilbur raised his eyebrow. “What happened there.”

_ Well, you have to talk about it at some point.  _ “Lets just say, he became extremely possessive, to a point where I had to get a restraining order.” George cringed at the silence that followed. “Don’t worry,” He said, waving his hands frantically. “It's all good now, he hasn’t tried anything since the order got filed. Haven’t seen him since.” He did his best not to melt under Wilbur's gaze; the man's face was flooded with a mixture of concern and anger, and George didn’t know which emotional response he wanted to deal with first. 

“That's uh,” Wilbur stammered and George mentally prepared himself for the usual words of comfort. “That's unfortunate. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

George swallowed. “Thanks, there's nothing that can be done about it now. We just move on.” Wilbur nodded, and the two resumed their extended silence. 

Time stretched slowly, and George kept his eyes trained on the pond and the soft ripples of water that came with every stone or leaf touching its surface. The winter's wind began to claw at his neck again, and he tightened the scarf around his neck once more, wishing he had brought gloves to keep his fingers from experiencing the chill. 

_ Was the silence becoming too awkward _ , he thought to himself. He trained his eyes back on Wilbur, focusing on his face. He wasn’t embarrassed by any means to admit that Wilbur was a handsome man, with low cheekbones and dark eyes, a piercing gaze that made George feel as if his entire being was being exposed, but not in a manner that felt invasive. His hair was curled neatly, hanging over his eyes to give him the appearance of an old movie star, a mystery that was worth solving. 

_ Wilbur looked ethereal. Like a man plucked from the forest with life breathed into him. _

_ Oh god, why do I feel like this, I shouldn’t feel like this, he’s my friend! _

“Everything alright?” George jolted upright, his face burning as Wilbur looked at him, his eyebrow raised. “You were staring at me like you were ready to smack me over the head with a guitar and shove me in a freezer.”

“What?”

“Nevermind, inside joke.”

“Oh,” George laughed awkwardly, with Wilbur following suit. “I’m sorry for the staring, I was just,” He hesitated. “Lost in thought.”

“Understandable.” Wilbur bit back. “I have that effect on people.” George shoved him, and Wilbur let out a sharp laugh that made George's insides squirm.  _ Stop it. _

Tell me about your friend, Phil, was it?” George exclaimed, desperate to change the subject  _ and not because Wilbur was having that effect on him. It wasn’t about that, it wasn’t about that, it wasn’t- _

“Oh, Phil and me go way back.” Wilbur began, leaning against the railing of the bench. “He’s been working at Eddingtons for a little over a decade when I started there, so he kinda helped me figure everything out. Me and Techno,” Wilbur looked back at George. “Did I ever mention Techno?” At the shake of George's head he continued. “Techno's another coworker, we worked under him for a couple of years, before we decided to move in together, since the rent here is crazy.”   


“Yea I get that,” George interjected. “I’ve got a cat and two roommates in one apartment, and believe me, it can get tight sometimes.”

Wilbur's eyes widened. “You have a cat?” Despite his best efforts, a smirk grew on George's face. 

“You know, Niki had that exact same reaction.” 

“Did she?”

“Yea,” George said, drawing out the a. “I love her. She’s such a good friend.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, shaking it in front of Wilbur. “Do you want to see some pictures of her?”

“Fuck yea!” Wilbur exclaimed, and George giggled, turning on his phone. His mood dampened as he looked at the time. 

“Oh shit,” He breathed, rising to his feet. “I have to get back to work, I’ve been on break too long.” He looked down at Wilbur with an apologetic face. “I’m really sorry to cut this short, but I really have to go.”

Wilbur shook his hand. “It's no problem, you gotta stay on that grind, yaknow?” He looked up at George with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling. “I can always come back.”

_ Why is this happening to me? _

“Uh, yea,” George stammered. “Feel free to come back. I’ll look forward to it.” 

“Okay,” Wilbur responded, waving. “See you tomorrow then.”

“Til tomorrow.” George replied, back away, before turning on his heels and marching towards the park exit. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the man, of his voice, of his face, of his eyes, of everything. 

_ I think I like him.  _

_ Shit. _

\---

As Georges form exited through the park gate, Wilbur let out a deep breath, wisps of air appearing in the cold. He pressed a hand into his coat and began searching for the pills, filled with enough poison to kill a fully grown man within a matter of minutes. His fingers grazed the sheen of his pocket, but he was met with nothingness. Concerned, he looked into his pocket, frantically attempting to locate the pills, but came up empty.

“Shit,” He muttered to himself, leaning against the bench. So far, nothing in this case had gone right, and it was incredibly frustrating. It seemed as if all of his interactions with the man had resulted in him slipping up, a factor that upset him greatly. He was a trained Guild member, he should be able to complete a simple poisoning. 

Especially with a target who seemed so willing to let him into his life. 

Why did George have to be so friendly? It only made his task more difficult. 

At least the day hadn’t been a waste. He had gained a considerable amount of information about his target, information that could be useful in gaining his trust. 

Rising to his feet, he began to trudge back to Phil's car, his mind focused on his target.

\---

“Hello?” Wilbur called out as he entered the apartment. “Tommy, you alive?”

“Ayyy, my friend!” Tommy's voice called out, and Wilbur turned his head sharply, spotting the teen standing in the kitchen, his arm extended and waving frantically.

“Tommy, what the fuck are you doing out of bed?” Wilbur hissed, rushing towards the teen, who was standing behind the counter.

“Relax big man,” Tommy exclaimed, grabbing hold of what Wilbur assumed to be pills on the counter. “I was just taking my medicine, like a good boy.” 

Wilbur felt himself physically cringe. “Yea okay,” He replied, stepping towards the teen, his eyes following him as he opened the little baggy in his hand. Realization dawned on him, and he slapped the bag out of his hand.

“Wilbur what the fuck?” Tommy screeched, turning on the adult. “I’m sick, I need to take those!”

“You fucking idiot!” Wilbur yelled back. “Those are the pills for my target, I just saved your life you dumbass!”

Tommy stood still, before squinting at Wilbur. “Oh,” He said slowly, his lips pursing. “That would’ve been bad.”

“Yea,” Wilbur hissed, grabbing the nearby pill bottle and checking the label, before opening it and pouring a pill into his hand. “Eat it.” He shoved the pill into Tommy's hand, who rolled his eyes before swallowing it dry. “Let's get you back to bed.”

Tommy let out a high scoff. “You are not my father, you do not tell me what to do.” His response was Wilbur shoving him, and with a groan, he marched towards his room, Wilbur trailing after him and pushing him when needed. Once in his room, Tommy pulled back the blanket and laid down in his bed. “Happy now?”

“We’ll see.” Wilbur responded, remaining in the doorway. Tommy huffed and pulled the blanket over himself, shutting his eyes. After a few moments, Tommy turned his head in Wilbur's direction. 

“Are you going to stand there the whole time?”

“Yes.” Tommy groaned again, and Wilbur rolled his eyes. The two remained like this for a decent amount of time, Wilbur's eyes never leaving the form of the teen under the blankets. 

“Did Phil tell you he wants to leave?” Tommy said suddenly, breaking Wilbur from his trance. Tommy's voice was a lot lighter, his usual inflections missing. 

“What did you say?” Wilbur asked, cautiously approaching the blond. Tommy looked up at him, a dopey look on his face that left Wilbur confused.

“I said, did Dad tell you he wants to go away?” He drawled out, pointing up at Wilbur. Tommy's sudden change in behavior clicked in Wilbur's head. The medicine he had taken were morphine, as he recalled Phil mentioning that morning. It was no wonder he had suddenly become much loopier. 

“Phil wants to leave?” Wilbur replied. Tommy hummed in agreement, turning over. 

“Yep!” He pepped. “Said something about being normal, I don’t really know, wasn’t listening.” His voice was becoming deeper, and began trailing off. His voice was becoming deeper, and began trailing off. Wilbur surmised the morphine was beginning to kick in, increasing his chances of passing out. 

“When was Phil going to tell us this?” Wilbur asked, but he was met with silence, as Tommy had finally slipped into that sweet oblivion. “Tommy?” He was met with no response. 

Wilbur stepped forward and pulled the blanket closer around Tommy, letting his hand brush over the blonds face. It had always marveled him how dissimilar Tommy looked to his father, taking on many traits from his mother. Wilbur wondered what the woman was like, having never met her. When Phil and her were together, Wilbur had still been fairly new to the guild, and hadn’t been a close enough friend to Phil for him to reveal any personal information. 

Tommy was 16. Phil was getting old, older than Wilbur ever thought he would be. It dawned on him just how odd Tommy's life had been, being a member of the guild from an early age. Did he ever go to school like other kids, have any normal childhood rituals? He had many memories of Tommy's advancements in the training program, of him being a prodigy. How strange that seemed now, to train a child to kill.

He recalled Phil's words from last night.  _ Maybe it's time for us to leave.  _ Was Phil trying to leave the guild, was he trying to keep Tommy away from this lifestyle? These thoughts and more whizzed through Wilbur's head as he closed the door to Tommy's room and headed to his own.  __

_ I suppose having a special case like mine doesn’t make this easier. They’re constantly being scrutinized, what with having to watch over me.  _ Despite it not involving them, Wilbur's assignment placed the two under a microscope, putting them under more pressure to perform well than ever before. 

_ The longer I take, the longer they stay like this. I have to get this done soon.  _

And yet, the idea of killing George was no longer as appealing. It wasn’t just another name on a list, it was a person, with feelings and relationships and friends, just like his. 

_ Just get it done, just get it done, just get it done, just get it- _

_ What if I don’t want to? _

__

George Ashworth had to die. That's what he was instructed to do, even if the prospect of doing so was no longer appealing. 

It wasn’t his choice anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to Ao3 statistics, only 0.05% of my readers leave a comment, so please come yell at me below
> 
> i hope someone will appreciate what i hope will be the only reference to smpronpa, i haven't read it but i felt it was important i add that line in
> 
> for future reference, i might not update next week, as i might take the time to rewrite Eros and Psyche. i don't know if i will, but i hope to rewrite the story, give it some more detail. 
> 
> as always, roast me if you spot a typo


	9. Party Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George gets another phone call from his father and is given an ultimatum

The walk back to the rundown premises of Mushniks was one marked by confusion and doubt clawing at George's stomach and threatening to pull him in. Alone with his thoughts, George was left to consider the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions he was dealing with. 

He was, for all intents and purposes, crushing on Wilbur Soot, his friend, who was happily dating a woman named Sally and who had no interest in him beyond the platonic sense. The feeling of guilt ran rampant, he felt ashamed of his emotions. Here he was, falling head over heels for a man he's spent less than a month with. He mentally cursed himself, he was beginning to sound like a character in the stories he read in the library during the school day.

As he approached Mushniks, he blocked out any and all thoughts of the brunette, willing himself to focus on his work. He was an employee and could not waste his work hours thinking about some silly little crush. He was an adult, he shouldn’t be thinking like this. 

Opening the door, he called “Hey Niki,” alerting his friend of his presence. The familiar black and blonde hair popped into view as she exited the back room.

“Hey George!” She called back, raising the bar for the counter and allowing George to step behind. “You’re late.”

“Yea, I know.” George said, grabbing his apron and beginning to tie it behind his back. “Me and Wil were talking, and you know how it is,” He shrugged. “Time just passes by.”

Niki raised her eyebrow. “Is that what they call it now?” George gasped and turned on her.

“Niki!” He yelled, and she let out a laugh, clutching her sides. Georges cheeks burned red and he shoved her, not enough to actually hurt. “You rat!”

“It was funny though.” Niki responded, wiping a tear from her eye. George ignored her. 

“Did we get any orders while I was gone?” He asked, crouching down to look under the counter for a new roll of tissue paper.

“Oh yes!” Niki replied, pulling a piece of teal paper off of the corkboard. “I met with a man requesting 10 bouquets for pick up tomorrow, a combo of lily and hydrangeas.”

George scrunched his nose. “Weird combo.”

Niki shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t pick it.” George hummed in agreement, and the two set to work, pulling out flowers from the main store and from the backrooms. The initial awkwardness of that morning remained, but as the minutes passed, the two began to edge back into their previous rhythm, bouncing jokes and stories off one another with practiced ease. The task flashed by quickly, and within the hour, they found themselves finished, along with receiving another 3 orders from the phone. 

As the phone ran for a fourth time, George said “I’ll get it,” before picking up the phone. “Mushnik’s Emporium, how may I help you today?” 

“George?” A familiar voice spoked, and George felt his stomach drop. “George, is that you?”

“Yea,” He muttered, frozen in place. “Hi dad.”

“Hello again George.” His father replied, and George could easily picture him leaning in that old leather chair he loved so much, holding a cigarette in his free hand while a glass of whisky sat perched on the table next to the chair. “I’m calling your place of work in regards to the message you left me today.” He chuckled. “I’ve been trying to reach you at home, but no one picked up.”

“Oh yea,” George responded hesitantly. “My roommates work late, and I decided to take an extra shift.” Glancing over at Niki, he mouthed the word ‘father’ in response to her confused expression. Niki's eyes went wide, and she nodded her head, before reaching into her apron and pulling out her headphones, placing them in her ears. George silently thanked her. 

“That’s unfortunate.” George focused his attention back onto the other line. “I would have loved to speak with them, see what kind of people you live with. You never introduced us.”

Rolling his eyes, George asked “What’s this call about dad?” There was silence for a moment, before his father spoke again.

“Right to the point, ay?” He laughed again, and George bit his tongue. It was almost as if he was playing the role of an evil capitalist in a 80’s kids film. “Well, I’ll cut through the bullshit. I know that you could care less about the party Hyperion is hosting, but I do. I really do.”

“I know Dad.”

“Then you should know how important it is to me. It’s a symbol of our brand, of the Ashworth family. I mean,” George could hear that old leather chair squeaking as his father leaned back in it. “Think about it, how many times have we gone as a family to these events?”

“Too many to count.”

“Exactly. It's a great bonding experience. We all get to spend a nice quality night together, enjoy some nice food and see old friends.”

“Dad I am literally working right now, I do not have time for this!” George hissed.

“Well, I just thought that since that building is so close to closing-”

“Oh my god.” George wanted to pull his hair out. “Dad, I do not want to deal with this. I told you earlier today, I am not going. End of discussion.”

For a moment, his father didn’t respond, and George hoped against all odds that he had gotten it through his thick skull that he didn’t want to attend his party. In typical fashion, he was wrong. In a lower voice, his father responded, “I see then,” before taking what George assumed was inhalation from his cigarette. “Well if that's the case, I suppose you’ll be okay with me cutting the funding to your schools botanical program.”

George felt the world fall from beneath his feet, his throat constricting. “What?” He replied shakily.

“Oh it's quite simple George.” His father replied, an edge in his voice. “Either you come to the party on 16, or I stop my donations to the botanical program.”

He covered his mouth with his hand. “Are you joking?”

“I’m being dead serious.” George’s legs began to shake, and he crouched behind the counter, still holding the phone to his ear. He could feel Niki's eyes boring a hole into him. “I don’t want it to be like this, but if this is the only way, then so be it.”

“Why?” The word was all he could get out.

“I want to see you again, son. You never return my calls.”  _ Yea, I fucking wonder why?  _ “If it makes you feel better,” His father said. “You can bring a friend. I know how much you dislike interacting with people.” 

George nodded his head defeatedly. “Ok.” He said. 

“Excellent.” His father replied cheerfully. George wondered how he was able to effortlessly turn off that edge. “We’ll see you then. Do remember this is a formal event so,” He raised his eyebrow. “Try to dress well, none of that Hawaiian shirt and khakis nonsense from last time.” Despite his inner distress, George still snorted at the memory of that night. The look on his fathers face had been worth the screaming fit afterwards. “I’ll have my assistant send you the tickets. You’re still using the same email, right?”

“Right.” George responded.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you then. Your mother sends her love.” And with that, he hung up, leaving George crouched on the ground. Silently, he lowered the phone from his ear, letting the conversation wash over him. He inhaled deeply, leaning his head back to lightly graze the wood of the counter. Above him, Niki pulled her headphones out of her ears.

“Are you ok?” She asked hesitantly. George looked up at her. 

“No,” He replied. “No I’m not.” He lowered his head into his hands and sighed. Niki leaned down and crouched next to him.

“What happened?” She asked, and George focused on the feeling of his palms against the skin of his face. He ran his hands down his face, clutched them together and let out a sigh. 

“My dad,” He began, “Invited me to a company party, and when I said no,” He paused for a moment. “He threatened to cut off funding to my school's botanical program.” Niki let out a sharp breath.

“Oh George-”

“Please don’t.” George replied, cutting her off. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

“Still,” She rested her head on his shoulder and George leaned into the touch, silent. The two sat there for what felt like an eternity, letting George's experiences wash over them. Moving his head, he maneuvered his arm to pull her into a hug. “What's this for?”

“For dealing with me being a rude bastard today.” George replied. Niki laughed, and he smiled; Nicki's laugh always made him feel better. 

“How is this different from any other day?” George scoffed and shoved her playfully, letting out a chuckle. 

“I meant it.”

“I know.” Rising to her feet, Niki extended an arm and George took hold of it, letting her pull him upwards into a standing position. “So, what are you going to do now?”

He shrugged. “Go to this fucking party I guess.” Niki hummed in agreement, and reached beneath the counter, pulling out the wrapping paper. 

“Wanna get started?” 

“Yea.” The two set off again, gathering bunches of flowers together and styling them in the manner requested by the customer. Silence hung through the air, but it was comfortable, as George understood Niki was keeping her mouth shut as a means to give him time to process the day's events. Time slipped past as they moved in harmony, and before George knew it, it was closing time. The two slipped off their aprons, pulled on their coats and headed to the exit. As George was locking up, a thought dawned on him. “Niki,” He asked. Niki turned her head and stared at him. “My dad said I could bring someone with me to the party.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you be interested in coming with me?”

Nikis eyes lit up. “Of course!” She exclaimed excitedly, before pausing. “I mean, if it's convenient for you.”

George smiled, leaning back against the door. “It's no problem. The party’s on the 16, in about two week. Does that date work out for you?” Niki's face fell, and George felt his spirits sink. “That's a bad sign.”

Niki fiddled with the edge of her sleeves. “I’m sorry George, but my parents are having me look after my brother that night.” George groaned.

“Really?” He exclaimed, running his hands down his face. “Of all nights, why that night.” Niki hummed in agreement. “Why do you have to look after him anyway, he’s sixteen, isn’t he?”

“Well,” Niki began, but paused, slouching. “I don’t know, they just told me to do it, and I didn’t have plans so I said yes.”

“Damnit.” George hissed. He and Niki began the walk to their respective cars. “Now what do I do?”

“You could always ask your roommates, I’m sure Eret would love to go.” Niki interjected. Pulling his car keys out of his coat, George considered her words.

“I mean, you’re not wrong, Eret would probably be up for it.” 

“See,” Niki said, hitting him in the arm. “Problem solved. Have a nice night!”

“You too!” George responded. Niki waved, and George pulled open the door, stepping inside and pressing the key into the ignition. He watched Niki approach her car, and once he was certain she had gotten inside, he began the drive back to his apartment. 

\---

As per the norm, the first sound George heard upon entering his apartment were Fundy’s cries, as his character was killed, followed by Erets deep laughter. Rolling his eyes, George pulled off his coat and threw it onto the coat rack, walking down the hallway and into the main living space, where his roommates were seated. “Evening.” He called out. 

“Hey George.” They chorused back, eyes fixated on the game. George placed his phone and keys onto the counter and stepped towards them, placing his hands on the beige couch. Eret and Fundy were once again playing Mario Kart, and George elected to let them finish their round. After several minutes, Fundy proved victorious, and he let out several cries of victory and multiple “In your face’s!”

“Hey can I ask you two something?” George said. The two flinched violently, heads spinning to face him. 

“Christ George, were you standing there the entire time?” Fundy exclaimed. George stared at him exasperatedly.

“Are you two that fucking deaf?” When neither answered, he continued. “Okay, uh, so my dad called again today.”

“How absolutely awful.” Eret deadpanned. George rolled his eyes and grabbed the pillow he was leaning on, smacking him over the head with it. “Stop it please.”

“Never.” He replied, striking him once more, before placing the pillow on the edge of the sofa and leaning his weight on it. “Anyway,” He began. “My dad called again today, and told me that if I didn’t attend his fancy business party, he’d stop funding the botanical program, so now I have to go.”

“And you’re telling us this why?” Fundy asked. 

“Because, Fundy, I get to bring a plus one, and since Niki can’t make it, I’m asking you guys.”

“Why can’t Niki make it?”

“Babysitting.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Like I said,” George exclaimed. “Are either of you free on the 16th?” Eret and Fundy paused for a moment, and George could see the gears behind their eyes turning. 

“Uhhh,” Fundy began, scratching his chin contemplatively. “I think I should be able to. Let me check my calendar.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began scrolling, with Eret following in suit. His eyes crinkled as they scanned the screen. “Ah,” He hissed. “I’m working an extra shift that night.” He looked up from his phone. “I’m sorry.”

George sighed. “It's fine, Eret, what about you?”

Eret looked up at him apologetically. “Quite unfortunately, I have a family get together, and will be out of town for the weekend.” George groaned and hung his head in his hands. Eret placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you can find someone else to go with.”

George looked up at him skeptically. “Eret, do I look like I have friends?”

“What about your partners from your econ class?” Fundy interjected.

“Bad and Skeppy?” George questioned. “No, I haven’t spoken with them for awhile, and I don’t exactly think either one would be up for it.” He rubbed his chin. “Shit, I should text them some time.”

“Do you really not have anyone else in your life you could go with?” Eret asked, his lip curled. George shook his head.

“I’m not exactly a social person.” He shrugged, and Eret rolled his eyes. 

“Well, you do still have a week.” Fundy said. “Maybe download tinder and grab a random date?” George looked at him appalled, and Fundy cringed. “Right, you don’t like online dating, I forgot, my bad.” 

“George, it's just a party. It's not the end of the world.”

“Eret, you misunderstand, it's a party with my dad's rich friends who are assholes.” He raised his arms up. “Assholes!”

“We get it.” Fundy interjected. George let his arms return to their resting position, and stood up. 

“Well, it is what it is.” He said defeatedly. “Thanks anyway.” Eret stood up and maneuvered himself towards George. “What?” He said, looking upwards at his taller friend. Eret said nothing, but stretched his arms out, and before George could give his usual protests, the brunette pulled him into a bone crushing hug. “Fundy help me!” George screeched as the taller squeezed him tighter.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will,” The redhead exclaimed, before throwing himself onto George, squeezing him even tighter. George let out several screeches, attempting not to suffocate in their grips. 

“Please no, I don’t want to die.” He croaked, his voice strained. Eret let out a deep laugh and let go of him, before grabbing his shoulders again to stop him from falling to the floor. George wheezed, leaning against the couch to catch his breath, before raising his eyes to look at his roommates. 

“You’ll regret doing that.” He breathed, and he stormed into his room and threw himself onto his bed, inhaling deeply to make up for the missing oxygen in his lungs. He could hear his roommates' laughter from the living room, and despite his sour mood, he smiled. 

He was glad he had such good friends in his life. 

\---

As the days passed, George put all thoughts of the party out of his mind, focusing on the world around him. Mornings were spent getting coffee from his favorite restaurant, afternoons were spent spending time with Niki as they dealt with bizarre orders and obnoxious customers and evenings were spent with his roommates getting takeout and watching crap tv. 

Life was almost as normal as it had been.

The exception to this was Wilbur, who came to Mushnik's nearly every morning, ordering another bouquet before spending nearly a half hour talking with George. While they hadn’t gone out again, the conversations in the store were becoming a highlight of his day. 

It was during these times that the feeling in Georges stomach became more and more difficult to ignore. He felt as if he were on cloud nine every time Wilbur let out a hearty laugh, telling him stories about the insanities of his workplace, and tried to ignore how his heart clenched whenever Wilbur mentioned Sally. 

How strange the notion was, to have feelings for a man already taken. George would never have predicted he would be in such a situation, but with every passing day, he could feel his emotions growing stronger. A part of him felt he was tainting something pure, something that was never his, because that's what it was. 

No matter how badly George wanted it, Wilbur wasn’t his. 

But for a half hour every other day, he could put those thoughts away for a moment. 

The two weeks had come and gone, and before George knew it, the party was only three days away, and he didn’t have a date. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but George knew that if he showed up sans guest after having specially requested he bring one, he would never hear the end of it. He could picture his mother now,  _ George, I thought you would have found someone by now. I should introduce you to my friend Clarice, she has a lovely girl I just know you would love.  _ He shivered at the thought. 

“Wilbur,” He said, looking up from the pile of flowers he was wrapping up. “My fathers having a party this Friday, black tie type of event. I don’t have anyone to go with, so,” He hesitated for a moment, staring into Wilbur's dark eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?” He breathed out. “It's totally okay if you can’t!” He exclaimed, shaking his hands, “I won’t be mad! I just don’t want to go alone!” 

“Hey,” Wilbur replied, leaning closer to the counter. “It's fine, I’d love to go with you.”

George let out a shaky breath. “Really?”

“Yea, it’d be fun. I know how much you dislike spending time with your dad.” George felt his insides squirm, and he mentally told himself to knock it off. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to go to a rich people party.”

“Oh, it is not nearly as nice as you think it is.” 

“Well, now I can find out.” Wilbur looked at him bashfully, and George felt his face flush. The two stared at one another for a moment, the silence that fell over them becoming more and more awkward by the second. 

“Can I have your number?” George exclaimed, his eyes large. “So I can text you the details.” 

“Oh totally.” Wilbur replied, fishing through his coat for his phone before handing it to George, who attempted not to combust as Wilbur's fingers grazed his, and  _ how smooth his skin was, so-  _ not going there. George typed his number into the contact, before pulling out his phone and putting Wilburs number into his. He handed Wilbur his phone back, and began typing a message to the other man. 

**George**

hi wilbur

**Wilbur**

hello gogy

George looked up at him, his eyebrows narrowed. “Really?” Wilbur shrugged.

**Wilbur**

what, am I not allowed to use the g word?

He snorted, and looked up at the brunette, who let out a howl of laughter. George rolled his eyes. “The party's at the Robinsons Business Center around 6 pm Friday. I recommend meeting up before going in. Those folks are like vultures, they’ll eat you alive.”

“George, have you forgotten that I am the son of Ivy League parents?”

“Touché.” George focused his attention back to his work, wrapping the remaining flowers in a blue and white striped tissue paper, and tying a red string around it, before presenting it to the man. “Your total will be 5 pounds, but since you’re doing me this favor,” He leaned in. “It’ll be free of charge.”

Wilbur placed his hand over his heart. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’ll see you on Friday?”

Wilbur smiled at him softly, and he felt his heart leap. “I’ll see you Friday.” With that, he grabbed the flowers out of his hand and marched towards the exit, pausing to wave at George before stepping out the door. George watched as he walked down the street, before letting out a squeak and bouncing from foot to foot.

He had a date. 

Scratch that, he was going to a party with a friend, with whom he shared a completely platonic relationship. He wasn’t going to ruin it. 

Sighing, leaned against the counter, spreading his arms out. Maybe for the first time in his life, a party would actually be fun. 

He could only hope. 

\---

The proposition of attending the party alongside George had been a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one at that. It meant that Wilbur had another chance to poison the man and complete his task. 

Walking back to his car, Wilbur pulled out his keys and unlocked it, throwing the flowers onto the passenger seat and sitting down. Outside, the world had gone quiet, leaving Wilbur with only his thoughts to keep him company. 

Logically, he knew what had to be done. George Ashworth had to die, he was contracted to kill him, and he would not fail his task. His assignment put Phil and Tommy under a microscope, their every action under more scrutiny. 

It had been nearly two weeks since Tommy had let slip of his and Phils plans to leave the Guild, and Wilbur still hadn’t found the strength to confront the man about it. While he could understand why Phil might want to leave the Guild after Tommys accident, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told him yet. Phil had worked alongside him for years; the two had shared almost every personal detail from their lives with one another. In their family, everything was made open, as to keep the trust alive.

So why was this different? 

Why was Phil now choosing to keep silent, was he ashamed or afraid. Wilbur would never have tried to dissuade his friend from doing what he thought was best for him and his son; why was he choosing to keep him in the dark? Distantly, he wondered if Techno knew about it. 

He placed his hands against the steering wheel, tracing the dents and creases in the plastic from the repeated usage over the years.  _ This will pass.  _ He told himself.  _ Just kill him, and then you can put this all behind you.  _

His mind wandered back to George, to his dark eyes and his soft features. For a moment, he thought about how easy it would be to wrap him up in his arms, before he banished the thought from his head.  _ Keep it professional. You are going to kill him, there's no use in getting attached so late in the game.  _

Friday was the day where everything would come to an end. After that night, life would go back to normal, and he could let go of the guilt that plagued his chest.  _ It all comes down to Friday _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, according to Ao3 statistics, only a small percentage of people who read my stories leave comments, so consider commenting, its free and you can always change your mind.  
> the child is dead.... thats all I'm going to say about it.... stan jack manifold  
> any who, this party thing,,, not to give a big spoiler,,, but its going to bring a big change to the story,,, keep your eyes open for that  
> if you guys follow me on tumblr, y'all already know what happened this week, my fav fanfic author noticed me so now i can die happy  
> as always, roast me if you spot a typo


	10. "Date" Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur tries to complete his mission  
> George struggles to keep the line between from platonic and romantic from blurring  
> Phil deserves a vacation

“How do I look?” Tommy turned his head from where he was seated on the couch to stare at Wilbur. 

“You look fine,” He said, returning his focus back to the TV. Wilbur rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the couch. 

“Tommy, that's not a real answer.” Tommy raised his eyebrow and turned up the volume of the TV. Wilbur huffed, and turned his attention towards the other adults. “Techno, what do you think?”

Techno slowly raised his eyes from his book, looked Wilbur up and down, and gave him a thumbs up. “You’ll fit right in with those assholes.”

“Thanks for the encouragement Techno.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, Wilbur made his way out of the kitchen and towards Phils room. Knocking on the door, he made his entrance after hearing Phil's quiet “Come in.” Phil was lying on his bed, his green and white striped hat angled so that it covered his eye. When he spotted Wilbur standing in the doorway, he moved his hat to the side and sat up properly.

“How do I look?” Wilbur asked, cracking the joints in his fingers. 

Phil smiled. “You look good son.” Wilbur scoffed. 

“Oh don’t get emotional on me old man.” He exclaimed, and Phil let out a bark of laughter. 

“Can’t I compliment my friend in peace?” He bit back, but Wilbur smiled in spite of himself. It always made him feel good when Phil acted like this: cheery, but rough around the edges. “What's the plan for tonight?” 

Wilbur ran his hand through his hair. “Poison in his drink, excuse myself and head to the bar, play the concerned friend when he passes out and stay long enough for the police to get my alibi.” He paused. “I probably won’t be home tonight.”

“We’ll put a plate aside for you.” Phil responded, walking over to place a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.” 

Wilbur puffed his chest. “I can do this. Keys?” 

“On the counter. Good luck.”

“Won’t need it.” Wilbur strode out of the bedroom and into the living room, passing Tommy, who was still wrapped up in a blanket and staring at the TV. “I won’t be back tonight, so if I find out you went into my room, it's over for you.” Tommy looked up at him, a manic gleam in his eyes. “Techno,” The man looked up from his book boredly. “Make sure he doesn’t go into my room.” Techno grunted in acknowledgement, and Wilbur grabbed the keys off of the edge of the counter and headed to the door. 

\---

Wilbur shivered, wrapping his jacket closer over his stomach as he approached the Robinsons Business Center. The building was brightly lit, towering over the nearby buildings and from afar, he could spot a crowd of people waiting to be admitted inside. Crossing the street, he approached a patio area, passing bustles of well dressed men and women, leaning against a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. 

Glancing down at his watch, he noted the time, 5:50, ten minutes early. He hoped that George was the type to be early, as the man had both of their tickets. His eyes drifted to the small tattoo that peeked out from under the watch, a symbol of the Guild. It was a simple black tattoo of a G, finely swirled. When asked about it on assignments, he would often mention how it represented his fathers name, and how he had suddenly been taken from him at a young age. In reality, he and the others had received the tattoo after completing the training program, serving as a right of passage for fellow assassins and a symbol of their ongoing loyalty to Guild. 

From inside his coat, he felt his phone buzz, and he pulled it out. Flicking the screen on, his notifications told him he had received a message from George.

**George**

hey, I’m at the entrance, are you here yet? 

He quickly shot him a message confirming he was on his way, and began to approach the mob of people waiting to get in. He scanned through the crowd, attempting to spot the familiar face, when he heard his name being called out. Glancing backwards, his eyes were drawn to an arm waving to him, an arm attached to his date. 

_ God,  _ he thought to himself,  _ He looks good.  _

George was dressed in a navy blue suit, with a black tie and matching shoes. His hair was pushed back, with hints of gel in it, and he wore a nervous smile. Faintly, Wilbur could make out blue eyeshadow dusting his eyelids. 

_ He looked good. Really good.  _ Which was an odd thing, because he really hadn’t changed much. But standing underneath the black sky in the cold, George had found a way to set his entire heart on fire.  _ Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen _ . 

\---

It took all of Georges self restraint not to physically melt when Wilbur turned around and looked at him. With his soft hair pushed back, he loomed over him, dressed in a slim black tuxedo with a bright yellow tie. The look suited him extremely well, and George was overcome with a desire to run his hair through that fluffy hair. 

He approached Wilbur, and wrapped the taller man into a hug, resting his arms on his as he looked up and thanked the man for attending. “It's no problem.” Wilbur responded. “Do you have the tickets?”

He held up his phone. “Right here.”

“Excellent.” He hung his arm out. “Shall we?”

George entwined his arm with Wilbur's. “We shall.” he declared with a laugh, and they stepped towards the line, pressing close to one another as the crowd bustled around them. As they reached the front of the line, George held out his phone, allowing the usher to scan the tickets before letting them pass into the building, where they were promptly put through a metal security detector. “I’m sorry this is taking so long.” He said, looking back at Wilbur, who had picked his wallet off of the table after its inspection. 

“It's no problem.” The two linked arms again and stepped into the main foyer of the building. It was extremely ornate; tall wooden ceilings led up to a massive glass roof, from which a massive crystal chandelier. The main hall consisted of a large floor, with a massive staircase that led in two directions onto a second seating area. Half of the main floor held tables covered in bright white table clothes, while the rest of the space had been reserved for what George assumed to be a dancing space. Both sides of the room were flanked with a pristine bar, where men in tailored vests served a variety of fine alcoholic beverages. A quiet buzz filled the room, and George took the moment to take everything in. 

“Shit,” Wilbur breathed, turning around to bask in the grandeur of it all. 

“Yea,” George replied, his eyes tracing up and down the hall. “Its fucking huge.” Silently, they walked to the nearest wall and leaned against it in silence, with neither knowing what to say. They could faintly hear a gentle song being played from what George assumed to be a small band, but as he scanned the room, he couldn’t find any musicians. “How are you feeling?” 

“Small.” George hummed in agreement, staring at the chandelier. 

“I always forget how overwhelming these types of events can be.” 

“George!” He turned his head back to the main floor as he heard his name be called. Glancing around for the source, his eyes landed on a woman in a mint green dress with charcoal hair neatly tied in a bun waving at him. 

Wilbur leaned closer to him. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing at the woman. 

George sighed, and inhaled deeply. “That's my mother.” Wilbur did a double take. 

“She looks nothing like you.”

“Thanks.” Standing to his full height, George began walking towards his mother, who greeted him with open arms. 

“Oh hello Georgie.” She cooed, the bottom of her champagne glass pressing into his back. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” He spoke in his best customer service voice. “How have you and dad been.”

“Oh you know how it is, we fight, we make up. Just the same as it's always been.” She said, letting out a high pitched giggle. Pulling out of the embrace, she ran113 her hands down Georges shoulders. “My, you’ve gotten thin.” Her voice lowered as she looked George straight in the eye. “And that makeup…” She trailed off, her fingers brushing against his eyes. George grabbed her hand and lowered it from his face. 

“What about it?” He asked, his voice layered. His mother stared at him, her gray eyes conveying no emotion. 

“Nothing, dear.” She said after a moment. “It's just a little strange, that's all.” Her eyes flickered past George's head. “Any you are?”

Wilbur stepped into George's line of sight, extending his hand out to shake. “Wilbur Soot, ma’am. I’m here with your son.” His mother took hold of his hand, and Wilbur shook it firmly. 

“Elizabeth Ashworth, pleasure to meet you.” She replied in a dainty voice, one that George knew to mean she was attempting to extract information. “How long have you and George been friends, he’s never mentioned you before.” _ That's because I don’t want your controlling behavior in my life anymore.  _

“A couple of weeks.” George was shaken out of his thoughts by Wilbur's reply. “We met at his job, he paid for my bouquet and I took him out for coffee.”

“Oh, you’re still working at that flower shop?” She said, her eyes back on George. “I thought you would have found somewhere better to work by now.”  _ God I do not want to have this conversation tonight. _ “I enjoy my job, mother.” He replied curtly, and she tightened the shawl around her neck. 

“I suppose,” She drawled. “If it makes you happy, I’m happy.” She grabbed hold of George's arm. “Now, Mr. Soot, I am hoping you’ll let me steal my son away from you for a moment. It's been so long since we’ve seen one another, and I’m sure his father would love to see him.”

Wilbur waved his hand. “It's no trouble, Mrs. Ashworth. I’ll go grab George and I something to drink, if that's alright with you George.” _ No it's not.  _ “Fine with me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his mother linked her arm with his and began leading them through the crowd to an empty table, where a man with dark chocolate hair and a black suit sat. Without even having to see his face, George knew precisely who the man was. “Hello Father.” 

Daniel Ashworth looked up from his lap, a salesmen grin growing on his face. “George!” He exclaimed, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” He replied, his voice shaky from the lack of oxygen. His father released hold of him and George inhaled deeply, rubbing his arm. 

“My, you haven’t changed a bit.” Daniel said, slapping George harshly on the shoulder, and he fought the urge to flinch. “You look just like your old man. Except for,” He scoffed, gesturing towards his face. “Whatever you’ve got going on up there.”

“Its makeup.” George hissed. “You said it was a special event, and that I should dress nicely.” 

“I didn’t mean like this.” Daniel replied coolly. George bit his tongue, and lurched his arm out of his mothers grasp, crossing his arms over his chest. Daniel's eyes stalked over him, and George felt as if he was being measured in some way. 

As no one was willing to talk, George elected to breach the silence. “What do you want Dad?” He asked. “You made me come all the way out here for a reason.”

Daniel startled at George's exclamation, but quickly recovered, standing to his fullest height. He cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie. “You’ve already expressed to me how much you dislike pleasantries, so I’ll keep this short. I’m stepping down from my position at Hyperion.” 

George looked at him in confusion. “That's it? You threatened to revoke my school's funding for this?” He ran his hands down his face exasperatedly. “This could have been an email.”

“You wouldn’t have answered that.” Elizabeth said, her eyes narrowed on him. “We’ve had our assistants send you multiple messages over the months, but all were met with no response.”

“Maybe because I really could care less about this stuff.” George hissed. “Do you have anything else to say, or are we finished, so I can go back to my date.”

“Your date?” George blanched, mentally kicking himself.

“My friend. I misspoke.” His voice remained level, as not to betray the panic that had begun to set in. Daniel and Elizabeth’s gaze drifted across the hall, where Wilbur was speaking to a waiter, grabbing two glasses of champagne off of the tray. 

_ For once in your life, Wil, don’t try and talk to me! _

Quite unfortunately, after several seconds of looking around, Wilbur's eyes landed on the Ashworth family, and he raised one of his glasses. George wore an awkward smile and attempted to look away, hoping his friend would leave. Much to his dismay, his mother called out Wilbur's name, and the brunette began approaching them. 

“Hey George,” Wilbur said, holding out a crystal glass for him to take. “Elizabeth,” He nodded his head to the woman as George took the glass from his hand. “And, I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.”

Daniel’s smile did not reach his eyes as he extended a hand. “Daniel Ashworth, a pleasure to meet you.” 

Wilbur shook his hand enthusiastically. “Likewise. Wilbur Soot.”

Daniel leaned back on his heels. “Soot, the name sounds familiar. Have I met your family before.”

Wilbur pondered for a moment, and George focused his attention on the drink in his hand. At the golden liquid, how the small bubbles would float to the top of the liquid, fizzle before popping. His fingers ran along the glass, tracing every line and the engravings within it. On the bottom rim, he felt a chip, and ran his fingers over it repeatedly. 

Despite its clean and controlled appearance, it was broken. He wondered why it stung. 

“George.” Wilbur’s voice drew him out of his stupor. 

“What?” He said, focusing on his surroundings. All three of them were looking at him in confusion. Wilbur had the decency to look sympathetic, while his parents’ cold eyes bore into him, causing his hand to feel like rubber bands. 

“Mr. Soot was telling us about how the two of you met.” His mother said coolly. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have paid out of pocket for a stranger, but you always were too trustworthy of strangers.”

_ And we’re back to my poor life choices.  _ “Well, look how well it turned out for me.” He said, placing a hand on Wilbur's back. “I made a wonderful friend. Now, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

His parents looked at one another, communicating through their eyes words George probably didn’t want to hear, before looking back at him. “No, I think that will be all.” Daniel said. 

“Excellent.” He grabbed onto Wilbur's shoulder. “Please excuse us then.” With that, he half led, half dragged Wilbur with him to a table across the hallway, pulling the chair out and slamming down onto it. He could feel Wilbur's concerned eyes on him, but he ignored it as best he could. 

Wilbur sat himself in the chair to his right. “George, are you alright.”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Because your hand is bleeding.” George blinked, and looked down at his hand. Sure enough, the hand that had been holding the champagne glass had broken in his grasp, the shattered base cutting harshly into his hand. Slowly, he let go of the glass, placing the blood smeared crystal onto his plate. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” He replied, his eyes tracing the blood as it dripped down. “No it doesn’t.” 

“Can I get you a first aid kit?” 

“Sure,” He waved his non bleeding hand, and from the corner of his eye, watched Wilbur leave. Once the man was gone, his focus turned back towards the cut. Hesitantly, he poked the wound with his pointer finger, hissing at the sharp flare of pain, before running it along the blood's path, watching as it smeared the soft flesh of his palm. The music became softer, the world became less vibrant as his attention was focused on the blood, at how it shined in contrast to his pale skin. 

It was mesmerizing. 

A hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality, the music and crowd returning back to their previous level of noise. Wilbur stood over him, a roll of bandages in his hand. “You good?”

George looked up at him hesitantly.  _ Whatever did I do to deserve someone like you?  _

“I’m just going to assume that's a yes.” He lowered himself in the chair next to him and reached out for Georges hand. “May I?” George nodded, and Wilbur took hold of his hand, slowly bringing it towards him. “Let me know if this is too tight.” He placed the end of the bandage in the wound, slowly unwinding it around his hand. George watched as the white sheet slowly began to darken, before being replaced by another white sheet, until the rich blood was no longer visible. Wilbur ripped the bandage, tucking the end into the bandages underneath. “There you go.”

George clenched his hand. It was far more difficult than usual, but the pain was beginning to dull. “Thank you.” He whispered. 

Wilbur smiled softly. “It's no problem.” The two sat there in a long but comfortable silence. Slowly, George lowered his head to rest on Wilburs shoulder, and Wilbur leaned into the touch. They watched the crowd mingle about, conversations intermingled with the gentle music coming from the unseen band. Despite all the commotion of the night, they sat there in the corner, leaning against one another, two people who had never enjoyed such a lifestyle finding comfort in their aloneness. 

The lights began to dim, and the sound of a finger tapping against a microphone, followed by a “Testing, testing, one, two, thee.” spread across the room. The two looked up to the large staircase, where a spotlight illuminated a familiar figure. “Hello everybody!” Daniel said, the crowd clapping at his words. “You’re all too kind.” He adjusted his tie. “I just wanted to welcome everybody to the 16th annual Hyperion business party at the Robinson Business Center.” The crowd cried out loudly, their whoops and cheers being only outweighed by the sound of their clapping.

“As you know, it's always the job of the Executive Manager to start the night off, so forgive me for the slight delay. Family drama, you know how it is.” The crowd let out another round of laugher, and George grinded his teeth together.  _ The fucking nerve! _

“Anyways,” Daniel drew out the s, throwing the microphone into his other hand. “We here at Hyperion understand how much this company means to you, and how much you all matter to us.” His eyes drifted across the ballroom, and for a moment, George could have sworn his eyes landed on him. There was complete silence, and he felt as if his father was looking straight into his soul. “You’re our family.” His voice was smooth, but his eyes betrayed his anger. These words were meant for him.

“So with that being said,” Back was the salesman’s voice. “Let the festivities begin.” The crowd cheered, and music began to blare, no longer coming from the soft sounds of strings, but from a dj blaring a song straight off of the top 100. The already dim lights darkened as strobe lights began to flare, and George felt as if he had been transported back to his school dance in year 12. Distantly, he could hear Wilbur saying something. 

“Sorry,” He said, trying to blink away the anger burning in his chest. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said do you want to dance?” George looked at him, before looking back to the center of the room, where the large crowd of attendees had formed a dance floor. Just beyond them, he spotted his parents leaning against an archway, their eyes trained on him. He watched as they whispered to one another, with his mother pointing at him. He felt his entire chest constrict as white hot rage swam over his body. 

“Yes,” He shot to his feet and grabbed Wilbur by the arm, not giving the other a chance to react before he dragged him across the hall and into the swarming mass. They marched slowly, bodies crashing into and around them, making movement difficult, but after sometime, they found themselves in the center. The blue and yellow lighting flashed across Wilbur's face, illuminating and darkening faster than George was able to process. The music was almost deafening, as the speakers were less than 10 feet away from them now, and given any other scenario, George would have been quick to leave, the noise and closeness sending everyone of his senses on fire. 

But this was not one of those nights, so George took Wilbur's hand in his and without a word between them, began to dance. 

It was embarrassingly bad; George was by no means a dancer, and his control over his body was limited, meaning his actions were stiff and uncoordinated. He danced like a marionette, his movements were strange and puppet-like, a total disgrace to the artform. Wilbur was fortunately spared George's complete lack of coordination, but that wasn’t to say he was much better. He danced like he had seen a dance film once in his life and attempted to memorize the choreography, but had gotten bored after he didn’t master it immediately. 

In short, no one wanted to dance with them, and that was something they were fine with. Their minds were in another place, replaced with the blasting music and the constant of bodies being pressed against them. The lights blinded them to the world, and they moved without thought or feeling, eyes only focused on one another. 

George didn’t know how long they had been like this, when the dj lowered the volume and grabbed hold of a microphone. His ears were ringing, and it made his words difficult to hear, but as soon as the man had finished talking, the people around them had begun to partner up. George stared at Wilbur in confusion, attempting to say something, but his tongue felt heavy. Wilbur looked him over several times, before extending his hand. Hesitantly, George took it, and Wilbur pulled him closer. His hand took hold of Georges injured one and placed it onto his shoulder, before he placed his own free hand onto the side of Georges waist. 

Involuntarily, he let out a small gasp, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen, but before he could move away, the invisible band started to play again, and Wilbur began to lead him through a waltz. 

Unlike their previous dancing, this was slow and methodical. The two moved in tandem back and forth, with Wilbur occasionally bringing them closer, before spinning him out. George's mind remained blank, but instead of a mindless stream of nothingness, he was acutely aware of every movement he took, how Wilbur would pull him closer, closer, until they were only inches away, and the temptation to close that divide strengthened, before being pulled apart once more. His stomach was full of butterflies, soft and gentle, making him feel as if he were floating on air. 

Distantly, he thought about a movie he’d seen once.  _ So this is love… _

It couldn’t be, Wilbur was supposed to be with Sally. 

The thought buzzed through his head, shorting out all emotion and stopping him in his tracks. Wilbur looked at him in confusion, and George stared into those brown eyes, wondering how on earth they could ever go back to what they were after this night. 

Everything had changed.

The soft melody of the invisible band faded out, and the neon lights began again. George felt the heavy bass in his feet as the crowd began screaming the lyrics to a song he didn’t recognize. 

A burly man moved suddenly, knocking into George, who felt the ground give out beneath his feet. Before he could register what was happening, he felt arms clutching his waste, saving him from falling face first onto the wooden floor. He turned slightly to apologize to the person who saved him, but the words died on his tongue when a familiar face was merely a foot away. 

Wilbur had saved him, and now he was holding him in the same way a groom would dip his bride during their first dance. He felt his already flushed face turn bright red. “Thanks,” he muttered, staring up at his friend, who’s looked down on him, face blank. “You can let go now.”

Wilbur remained frozen, and George stared in confusion, before his eyes looked down at his lips, and it occurred to him just how close their faces were. Only a few inches, and…  _ No, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop- _

He felt the brushes of soft skin against his lips, and instinctually chased after it, but it was too late. Wilbur pulled him to his feet, releasing his hands from his waist. Under the blue lighting, it was hard to make out his facial expression, but he spoke in a voice void of emotion. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna get something to drink.” George stepped forward, desperate to find the words to draw him back, but they became stuck in his throat, burning. He hunched his shoulders. 

“Okay,” he replied. Wilbur nodded his head, and George could have sworn the brunette opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. “I’ll be at our table.” With an awkward smile, Wilbur stepped into the moving crowd, leaving George alone in the mob, feeling more confused than before. 

\---

_ What have I done? _

The thought coursed through Wilbur's head as he pushed his way through the crowd, attempting not to get thrown to the ground by some unsuspecting dancer. He squinted through the bright lights, attempting to make out where in the hall he had remembered seeing a bar. Spotting it, he approached it, seating himself at one of the bright red stools. “Whiskey on the rocks,” he signaled to the bartender, who began making the drink. Wilbur watched as the bartender poured the alcohol into the glass, and took it from his hands, pressing a 1 pound bill onto the counter. His lips touched the cool crystal glass, letting the burn run down his tongue.

He had once again failed to kill George; the champagne glass had held his ticket to freedom. All it would have taken was one sip, one sip and he could rid himself of those dark eyes. 

But George shattered the glass in his hand, and like a chump, Wilbur had searched for a first aid kit instead of trying something else. In hindsight, he could see every mistake he made, from introducing himself to Georges family, to his refusal to work around a fairly easy mishap, to what happened on the dance floor. 

What happened on the dance floor, he didn’t know. All he knew for certain was that George leaned in, and for the slightest moment, he let himself lean in as well. A breath away. What would his teachers say? What would Phil say?

He swallowed the last of his drink and signaled for another. The bartender quickly refilled his glass, and he took another sip, setting it back down on the counter. His eyes wandered around the hall, looking for his targe- George. 

He was sitting back at their table, his eyes trained on the dancing crowd. Despite the darkness, Wilbur could make out the tidal wave of emotion behind 

George looked like a man without purpose. Wilbur supposed he did as well. 

“Come here often?” A voice spoke, and Wilbur turned sharply. To his left sat a man in a dark green suit with blond hair. His face was chiseled and scruffy, his long hair tied back. He appeared cocky under the dark lighting, but behind his eyes, Wilbur could make out something darker. More sinister. 

A threat, in a way he was familiar with. His eyes traced down the man's torso, down his arm, to the space beneath his cuffed white dress shirt. On his skin sat a familiar black tattoo, one Wilbur would recognize anywhere. 

Another Guild member. 

He brought his glass to his lips. “First time.” He replied curtly. The man hummed in agreement, taking a swig of his drink, a beer he noted. “Assignment?”

“Poisoning.” The man replied, stretching out his free hand to point at an older gentleman in a grey suit seated at a nearby table. “In about 10 seconds, he’s going to stop moving and begin having what appears to be a heart attack.” He cocked his head, a smirk crossing his face. “3, 2, 1!”

True to his word, the older man froze in his seat, unnoticed as the group chatted over him. For an excruciating few seconds, his body began to twitch, before he grabbed onto his chest. Wilbur could hear him muttering something, before the woman to his left began screaming for help. It wasn’t long before several staff members approached the man and began attempting to help him. Wilbur turned his eyes away from the dying man and back to the other guild member. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” His dark eyes turned back to Wilbur. “Yours?” Wilbur pointed with his thumb towards George. 

“Poison.” The man looked George up and down.

“Attractive,” There was an edge in his voice. “I bet he’d be fun in bed.” Unconsciously, Wilbur bit back the flame of anger that erupted in his chest at the strangers' words. The man was still staring at George, eyeing him like a piece of meat. “Emotionally compromised from the looks of it,” The dark eyes turned back to him. “When does it kick in?”

Wilbur sighed, downing the rest of his drink in one go. “It won’t” He muttered, staring at the floor. “Brought only one pill and the target shattered his glass.” From the corner of his eye, he spotted the man in green stiffen. He stared at the man, who, despite his controlled mask, was unable to hide the fury in his eyes. 

It dawned on Wilbur just how odd this situation was. Two guild members from separate holders, both working the same event, both assigned to poison their targets. Distantly, he wondered why the other guild member looked at George like that, with such hatred. Why would this man who had no connection to the brunette stare at him with such conviction?

Who was this man?

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.” Wilbur snorted, and turned back to order another drink, but was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. He blinked in confusion, and opened his mouth, but felt his tongue become heavy. His entire body lit up with numbness, and Wilbur let out several sharp breaths, before his mind connected the dots. 

“You-”

“Sorry about that,” The man said, adjusting his green jacket. “Couldn’t have you getting in the way of my assignment.” Wilbur lurched forward, trying to grab at him, but his actions lacked coordination as the tranquilizer placed in his drink began to kick in. The man pulled him back into a seating position, patting him on the head. “Have fun with George. Bartender,” he called out to the man behind the counter. “Send a long island iced tea to the man at table 8, on me.” Wilbur jolted in panic and attempted to grab at the man, who easily moved past him. “Don’t worry loverboy, I didn’t put anything in his drink. He’s not mine to play with anymore.” 

The man in green rose to his feet, dusting off his jacket and tucking a stray of blond hair behind his ear. “Don’t get so worked about this. I’m sure that tomorrow morning, this’ll be a distant  _ dream. _ ” He saluted him cheekily, and walked away, vanishing into the crowd, leaving a heavily drugged Wilbur powerless to stop him

His mind became fuzzy, but before the fog of intoxication kicked in, one thought remained.  _ How did he know George's name? _

\---

“Long Island Iced Tea, sir.”

George was startled out of his trance as the waiter above him spoke. The man in white was holding a tray with a tall brown drink and a red-and-white striped straw. Blinking in confusion, George told the waiter that “I’m sorry, but I didn’t order a drink.”

“It's from the gentleman at the bar.” George's eyes flickered over to the wooden structure, leaning back to try and identify from whom the drink came from. Remembering the waiter, he grabbed the drink off of the tray, and stood to his feet, approaching the bar. As he drew closer, he moved past a group of men who had been blocking his line of sight to the counter, and spotted a familiar figure resting his head on the wooden surface. 

“Wilbur?” He exclaimed, staring at the man, who turned his head slowly to look at him, before smiling. 

“George!” He cried out, his voice deeper than usual.  _ You are not attracted to that, stop it.  _ “George, Gogy, Gogmeister, Gog!” 

“Yes, hi Wilbur,” George hissed, quickly stepping towards him and placing his drink on the counter, desperately attempting to avoid the annoyed looks from other patrons. “Are you okay?”

Wilbur hummed. “Yea, I feel good.” He hiccupped. “Green man did something to me.” 

“Green man?” George looked up at the bartender. “Did anyone in green talk to him?” 

The bartender squinted. “Think so,” he said, drying a glass in his hands. “Two chatted for a minute before leaving.” 

“How much did he drink?”

“Couple whiskey’s on the rocks.”

“Sheesh,” George hissed. “You’re a bigger lightweight than me.” Wilbur muttered something under his breath, but George missed it. “Could you repeat that?”

“Wanna go home. Wanna see dad.” George let out an involuntary chuckle. 

“You sure you don’t wanna see Sally?” Wilbur squinted, scratching his face.

“Who's Sally?” George felt his body stiffen. 

“Your girlfriend, remember?” Wilbur let out a laugh, throwing his head back. 

“Stupid,” He said, pointing a finger into Georges cheek. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

It took all of George's self control not to combust at the statement. Had Wilbur broken up with Sally? Is that why he came with him tonight? Did he actually lean in?  _ What is wrong with me? Wilbur's out of it, and my first thought is whether or not he’s single.  _ George reached into Wilbur's coat pocket, causing the intoxicated man to let out a giggle. “Wilbur, I’m gonna get you home, can you give me your phone?” 

Wilbur let out another giggle, but after several attempts, was able to fish his phone out of his coat and into Georges hand. George pressed the man's fingers to the screen and unlocked it, immediately beginning to search through the man’s contacts. After several scroll throughs, the name ‘Dad’ didn’t appear, along with the name ‘Sally.’ It was a total invasion of privacy, he knew, but he was still curious. “Wilbur, what's your dad’s phone number?” 

Wilbur poked him in the face again, and George repeated the question. The brunette stared blankly ahead, and George resisted the temptation to scream.  _ I’m never going with Wilbur for drinks.  _ “Do you know where you live?” He asked hesitantly.

Wilbur’s head rolled down before shooting back up again. “Yea,” he groaned. 

“What is it?”

“Its uh,” He stammered, and George grabbed hold of the man to keep him from keeling over in his chair. “Uhhhh…”

“Spit it out!” George hissed, shaking the man. Wilbur startled at the sudden movement. 

“Watkins Avenue,” He moaned. George inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm. 

“Alright,” He said, pulling Wilbur to his feet and throwing his arm around his shoulder. “Lets go, my cars a few minutes walk away.” Wilbur let out a groan, and his head rolled to the side. With a tug, the two began making their way down the hall at a slow pace, Wilbur constantly tripping over his feet, George practically dragging him along. It didn’t help that Wilbur felt the constant need to talk to anyone that passed them, drawing angry stares from everyone around them. Never before had George wanted to melt through the floor this badly. 

As they neared the exit, George heard a voice call out his name. Glancing behind him, he spotted his parents approaching him. “George,” His mother called. “Leaving already?”

“Yea,” George groaned, forcing Wilbur to stand straighter. “Wilbur had too much to drink.” 

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. “Yes, it seems that way.” She made no attempt to veil her disgust. Daniels firm stature indicated he felt similarly to his wife. “We still wanted to talk with you about something”

“Sorry, but that's going to have to wait.” He hissed. “I ne6ed to get my friend home.”

“What good company you keep.” His father said coolly. George startled at his words, and looked at the ground, shame filling his stomach. This was just what he needed, another dressing down from his parents. 

Wilbur groaned, and blinked wearily. “Who's that?” He said, louder than he was supposed to. George winced. 

“It's my parents, you met them earlier tonight, remember?”

Wilbur nodded his head. “Yea,” he said, “Yea I remember.” He turned his head to look George dead in the eye. “They’re assholes.” He slurred. George felt his jaw drop, and he heard his parents gasp behind him. Wilbur rolled his head, and stepped to the side, pulling himself out of George's grip, who rushed to grab him again. He hummed to himself, approaching his parents and opened his mouth to speak, before vomiting onto the floor, missing his mother by inches. Elizabeth let out a screech, jumping backwards and crashed into a waiter, causing the drinks she was holding to fall onto his mothers dress. 

George could only stare at the madness that had occurred, biting his tongue to stop himself from breaking out in laughter at the sight of his mother covered in wine and champagne. Wilbur smiled, and stepped forward again, and George rushed forward to grab him before he fell feet first into a pile of his own vomit. 

His father slowly turned his head, and if looks could kill, the two of them would be 6 feet under. “I think it's best you leave.” Wordlessly, George led Wilbur out of the hall and into the main lobby, grabbing a curtain and wiping the bits of remaining vomit from Wilbur's face.

“Gogy,” Wilbur said, his eyelids lowered. “Did you like that?”

Despite himself, George let out a chuckle. “Yea,” He admitted. “That was pretty funny.”

\---

It was around 11:45 pm when a soft knocking at the door of Apartment 4b on Watkins Avenue startled Phil out of his trance. He turned away from the TV, glancing at the clock on the table. Reading the time, a feeling of dread came over him. 

“Wilbur's not supposed to be home tonight.” Techno's voice called out from the loveseat. Phil nodded his head, and the pink haired man rose from his seat. “So who's at the door?”

Slowly, Phil put a finger to his lips indicating silence, and Techno nodded, reaching for the gun in the pocket of the chair. Phil did the same, pulling a knife out of the umbrella stand as he approached the door. As he neared it, he stared through the peephole, attempting to see who was behind the door. He could make out two figures, a brunette, with curly haired man draped over his shoulders. His hand tightened around the knife, and he slowly unlocked the door, bracing for the worst.

“Hello!” The one on the right exclaimed nervously. “Are you roommates with Wilbur Soot?” He clutched the knife behind his back firmly, flicking his fingers to signal Techno to come closer. 

“Yes,” He replied. “Who are you?”

The man let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, I’m George. Me and Wil went out tonight, and he got a little intoxicated, so I had to drive him home.” His eyes drifted to the man on the left, whose head was hung. George nudged him, and he shot up. 

Wilbur's eyes lit up as he spotted him. “Phil!” He exclaimed.

_ Oh shit,  _ Phil thought to himself.  _ Wilburs' brought his target into our house. _ He lowered his fingers, and from behind him, he could hear Techno whisper their code word, and the sound of the gun being slid into a drawer. He turned his attention back to George. “Hey Wil.” He said, and the brunette smiled doopily. Phil stepped forward and slung Wilbur's right arm over his shoulder, and he and George walked the intoxicated man into the apartment, setting him on the couch. From the corner of his eye, he spotted George looking around the apartment. “Can I get you anything?” 

“Oh, its fine.” George said, raising his hand. “I’m just looking around that's all.”

“Are you certain?” George flinched as Techno spoke, turning his head to see him standing behind the counter in the kitchen. 

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You nearly scared me to death.” 

Phil clapped the man on the back. “That's Techno for you.” George let out a chuckle, crossing his arms across his chest. His eyes were still scanning the room, and Phil asked him “Is there something you’re looking for?”

“No,” George exclaimed sharply, before pausing, his face flickering through various emotions Phil couldn’t recognize. “I mean, I just thought Wilbur lived with his girlfriend, that's all.”

“Girlfriend?” Techno asked, and Phil fought the urge to smack himself in the face. The girlfriend named Sally was one of Wilbur's most common cover-stories, how had the pink haired man forgotten it?  _ Time for damage control. _

“You mean Sally?” At George's nod, he continued. “Yea, he and Sally broke up a couple days ago. Caught her, uh, cheating on him.” 

“Oh god,” George held his hands to his face. “That's awful, tell him I’m awfully sorry about that.” 

“Oh, it's no problem.” George's face remained neutral, and he stepped towards the loveseat, grabbing the folded blanket off of the side. 

“Is it okay if I?” He gestured to Wilbur's passed out form, and Phil nodded. The brunette unfolded the blanket and placed it over the man, his hand lingering on his form a bit too long.  _ Interesting.  _ “Well,” George began, turning back to Phil. “I better be off then. Sorry for interrupting your evening.” 

Phil raised his hands. “Don’t worry about it. Just glad Wilbur here made it back in once piece.” He led George to the door, pulling it open. “Between you and me, I think this was best for him. He needs to get back in the field, if you know what I mean.” George's face flushed, and he looked up at Phil in confusion.

“What do you mean by, back in the field?” There was nervousness in his voice, and Phil knew he had the man in the palm of his hands. 

“You know, find himself someone new.” He scratched his chin. “Think he’s already got his eye on someone.”  _ Hook. _

“Do you know who?”  _ Line. _

“Some employee in a flower shop, I think. Keeps going to the shop before heading to work.”  _ Sinker. _

Phil could hear the gears in George's head turning. Stiffly, he bid him farewell and stepped out the door. Phil watched as he walked down the hallway and leaned his head against the wall as he waited for the elevator. Once he was certain the man had stepped in the lift, he closed the door, letting out a deep sigh. 

“Well,” Techno's voice rang out. “That was a shit show.” 

“Yea,” Phil responded, staring at the couch where Wilbur lay. “It really was.” He stepped towards the couch, wrapping the blanket tighter around his friend. “What have you gotten yourself into Wil?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, according to Ao3 statistics, only a small percentage of people who read my stories leave comments, so consider commenting, its free and you can always change your mind.
> 
> big thanks to all of my readers! this week we hit 1k hits and 100+ kudos! i'm really grateful to you all for supporting me and my work! 
> 
> failed another math test, but its fine, i'm gonna cope  
> started listening to hadestown again and god, the myth of orpheus and eurydice fits georgebur so well  
> this might be the longest chapter yet, so I hope y'all like it, it took me two weeks to write  
> as always, roast me if you spot a typo

**Author's Note:**

> According to Ao3 statistics, I'm in the mood for some kudos and comments!
> 
> Whelp, I caved. I just randomly started writing this one day because I felt like it, and since its my birthday today, I thought I might just go ahead and publish it.  
> I've got no idea when I plan to update this, as I've got other stories to work on, but I will at some point.  
> Special thanks to @dtvibez on tumblr for encouraging me to write this, your cap lock keyboard smashes provide me with more motivation then you would ever believe.  
> Come find me on tumblr @rated-m-for-musicals, and roast me if you spot a typo!


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